


Each other needed, to feed a wish

by blackchaps



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Comic Book Science, Crossover, Dubious Ethics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Sappy, hot mess John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Harold is seriously injured, and John pulls out all the stops to save him, knowing that Harold isn't going to be happy about it!





	Each other needed, to feed a wish

**Author's Note:**

> This story is pure indulgence for myself. Written because I wanted to read it, and if you, as the reader (all four of you) have any complaints, please let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. That said, pointing out typos and continuity problems is fine - I'll fix them. Thanks for reading this, and remember, John is a hot mess. I've seen the show. Clint and Phil are secondary characters, but I love them so I gave them plenty of screen time. Cameo by Lucky the Dog, who should have his own TV show.

2012 – the Library

“So, where were you?”

“Mr. Reese, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more precise than that.” Finch didn’t look away from his multitude of computer screens.

Bear yawned and stretched in his bed, rolling to his back to sleep with his paws in the air.

John was unable to keep the smile from his face. “Where were you during the Battle of New York? It’s the standard question New Yorkers ask each other, Finch.”

“Interesting.” Finch paused. but his fingers continued to dance across the keys. “I was hunkered down in an office building, praying Tony Stark and his stupid robots didn’t get us all killed.”

Sensing a sore spot, John pushed on it. “Stark’s a genius.”

Finch actually snorted. “I taught him how to code! Or at least, code elegantly. He always smashed it all together.”

“MIT.” John didn’t say it like a question. “He built a robot; you built the Machine.”

“And both of us have killed far too many.” Finch got to his feet with a small grunt of exertion and disappeared into the depths of the library. He was probably getting some tea, but he could be leaving altogether. John never knew which.

*********

2013 – December – the Library

“Well, I guess Stark’s robots couldn’t save him this time.” Reese tossed the front section of the paper down on Finch’s keyboard. ‘Iron Man Dead,’ screamed across the banner.

Finch leaned back slightly, took a sip of his tea, and nudged the paper straight. He glanced down for about one second. “Stark’s house might be rubble, but he’s fine.”

John collapsed down on the small sofa, jerked up, pulled out a dog toy, and tossed it to Bear, who caught it and began to chew. “Papers are never wrong, Finch.”

They both smirked. Finch went back to his tea. “Tony is resourceful. A jackass, yes, but he always has plans and backup plans.”

“You guys were friends. That’s nice.” John saw the spark of indignation in Finch’s eyes right before he opened the sport’s section. “You still have his phone number?”

Finch gave him a long, lazy look which meant nothing, but John was curious now, more curious than he could appear.

“Oh, look, the Redskins lost again.”

“Asinine sport.” Finch was a baseball fan. They fell into a comfortable silence, no more talk until a number found its way to them.

********

April – 2014 – the Library

His mind screamed ‘too late’ at him, right as Bear dashed for his toy, shoulder clipping the ladder that Finch had stepped up on, and his outstretched hand did nothing to stop Finch from falling backwards. The crunch as his head hit the edge of the desk made John flinch, even as he moved to him. God damn ladder, and god damn Finch for not asking for a hand.

“Finch! Finch!” Yelling made no difference to the crumpled figure on the floor, and John frantically felt for a pulse, shocked to find one, weak but there. Bear licked John’s face, and for one drawn-out moment, John had no idea what to do. There was no one to shoot, no one to punch, and calling an ambulance was against every protocol Finch had in place. In fact, John had promised he never would, and he kept his promises. Mostly.

“Shit. Finch!” John was almost scared to touch him. Somehow, Finch was alive, but moving him might break his neck or spine, if it wasn’t broken already, again. Bear cried, and John ordered him to his bed, mind casting for a solution. Anything. Anyone. He felt Finch’s pulse flutter under his fingers and made a noise that wasn’t quite human. Sweat broke out along his hairline, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw an old newspaper on the shelf. ‘Iron Man Dead’ flashed in his face, and it came to him. He scrambled to the computer and put on the headset. It was the longest shot in the world, but it was a chance.

“Avengers’ Tower, this is Tracy, how can I help you?”

“I’m calling for Tony Stark.” John knew that wouldn’t be enough, and he struggled to find the right combination of words that would get him in the door. “I represent a friend of his, Harold Wren. They were at MIT together.”

The pause was long enough that John began to think he’d just buried his friend. A British voice came on the line, “Harold Wren is deceased.”

“He will be if Tony Stark doesn’t get his red and gold ass over here.” John rapped out the address without a thought for anonymity, nothing mattered but Finch living. “He fell. I need – he needs help. Right now!”

John realized he was gulping out the words with big breaths, and he ripped off the headset, going back to the weak pulse and sitting on the floor next to him. “I’m sorry, but it was the only thing I could think of, Finch.”

The roar was felt as well as heard, and Bear jumped up to defend, but John grabbed him by the collar so they presented a united front.

“Harold is dead.” The voice was mechanical.

“Not yet.” John got out of the way but stayed close.

“Does anyone stay dead anymore?” Iron Man muttered, clanking closer. He knelt, graceful in a cumbersome suit. “Harold, you’re gonna hate me for this.”

“What are you going to do? Can you help?” A million thoughts of guilt and worry pushed their way to the front of his brain, and John nearly grabbed at him. “Can you help?” he asked much louder.

“Easy, big fellow.” Iron Man got to his feet. “Jarvis, initiate the fireman protocol. It’s a lovely night for a stroll in Manhattan. Have Happy pick us up along the way.”

“What the hell?” John could only stare as the armor peeled itself away from Iron Man and began to wrap itself around Finch. “Wait! His neck!”

“It’s broken.” Stark, Iron Man no longer, got right up in John’s space. “He’ll die within ten minutes if I don’t do this. Get moving, Jarvis. I’ve lost enough friends. I don’t want to lose this one, again.”

“You can help?” John knew he sounded like an idiot, but he felt like a record player, stuck in a groove.

“Harold is in luck that Dr. Cho is at the Tower, so yes, he may live.” Stark shot his cuffs and looked about the Library. “Horrible living conditions, but lovely computers. I don’t suppose…”

“No.” John turned to shut down the system, unable to stop from flinching when the armor, with his friend inside, left the building at a very high rate of speed. There was the sound of breaking glass, but he didn’t much care. “I’ll lock up, and we can catch a cab.”

“Happy is in route with the limo. He loves the New York night life.” Stark’s eyes were darting here and there. “I suppose you have to come along? With the mutt?”

“Yes.” John might’ve growled out the word. He hustled Stark down the stairs and then locked the gate. Bear had his leash in his mouth, and John clicked it on with a pat. “We’re ready.”

“I see that.” Stark gave him the side-eye. “I suppose I can say you’re a new security guard, not that I need one.”

“I’m staying with Harold.” John wouldn’t accept anything less. Also, he had respect for Iron Man’s capabilities, but Tony Stark definitely needed a bodyguard. When they passed through a large group of people, John automatically shielded him, noticing that Stark took it as his due. When a limo pulled up, John didn’t think. He got the door for Stark and did a last check before getting inside with Bear.

“Military, huh?” Stark had his phone up. “Says you’re deceased here.” He flicked at the screen. “CIA says you’re dead, too. Huh, guess you’re dead.” He rolled his eyes. “Harold always loved secrets.”

“You didn’t stay dead. Why should I?” John stretched his legs out and tried to look like he wasn’t panicking on the inside. It was stupid, but he didn’t want Harold to die alone with just strangers around him. Harold hated hospitals, and there was no doubt in John’s mind that if he survived, he was going to be furious.

“Jarvis?”

“Mr. Wren has stabilized. They are prepping him for surgery. Dr. Cho is optimistic.”

John measured his breath so he didn’t heave out a sigh of relief. “How can she help?”

“I have… access to different, let’s call them, health technologies.” Stark didn’t meet John’s eyes. “Dr. Cho is, literally, the finest doctor in the world. She’ll choose the right… therapy for Harold.”

“Is that how you got rid of your chest piece?” John had sharp eyes, and Stark’s shirt fell differently than it had in pictures from before he was dead.

Stark shot him a glare. “Yes.” The word was clipped, almost angry, like John had invaded the man’s privacy. John wondered if all billionaires were insane about their privacy.

The rest of the ride was silent, not a word exchanged, even when Stark made himself a scotch on the rocks and handed one to John. John downed it, rattling the ice but shaking his head when Stark offered a refill. One was enough. He had to be alert. Not that he could do anything but wait, and he bit the inside of his lip in frustration.

“Happy, drive faster, Harold’s guard dog is growling, and Jarvis, lay in a supply of doggie biscuits.”

Bear wagged his tail, but John wasn’t amused. “Harold said he taught you to code.” Just a jab, to see how Stark took it.

Like Harold, Stark’s eyes flashed. “I was coding robots when he was still learning DOS.”

“Lego robots don’t count,” John drawled, but before Stark could snap back, he continued, “I’m very impressed with Stark weaponry, nothing better in the field.”

Stark’s eyebrows went up. “Well, you’re not wrong.” He sipped at his drink, pinkie out. “Jarvis, alert Hawkeye that we have a guest coming and make sure appropriate rooms are made ready.”

“I’ll stay with Harold,” John said again, narrowing his eyes.

“Trust me, when he wakes up, I’m throwing you into harm’s way, but you can’t sleep in a chair for days.” Stark stared at him. “Never mind, I see that you could. Jarvis, adapt the hospital room that Harold will be in after his surgery to accommodate his two guard dogs.”

“Yes, sir, and might I suggest you strive to be polite to a man who can kill you with his pinkie?”

Harold thought maybe he could like Jarvis. He knew who Hawkeye was, of course, but he hadn’t thought that he’d be meeting any of the other Avengers. “I’d prefer to stay under the radar.”

“Yeah, I get that you and Harold need to stay dead.” Stark set his drink aside, and the limo came to a stop. “And I’m more dangerous than I look, John.”

The quiet words were much more effective than loud bragging. John shrugged, got the door, and Bear beat them both out. Stark laughed, and John hurried after his dog, pulling him to a stop near an elevator. It opened, and Hawkeye stepped out, mouth dropping slightly open.

“Dog.” He didn’t sound all that intelligent. “Can I pet him?”

John turned back, but the limo and Stark were nowhere in sight. They were in a parking garage, but it didn’t have robots whizzing about or anything. Hawkeye was flexing his hands, and John sighed, giving Bear the Dutch command for friend.

“Military-trained Belgian Malinois,” Hawkeye breathed out the words like a benediction. “They’re, like, super dogs.” And he went to one knee as Bear demanded petting. Bear upped his level to licking, and John brought him back to sitting politely by his knee.

“I want to see Mr. Wren. Now.” John didn’t see any weapons on Hawkeye, so the fight would be even. “Right now.”

Hawkeye got to his feet and wiped his mouth with his arm. “He’s in surgery, but I can take you to the waiting room. Coulson wants to meet with you.” He shrugged and pushed the elevator button so it opened again. “No one around here is going to be much impressed with demands, just warning you.”

John saw Hawkeye’s gaze flick from his gun to his knife to his other gun. Bear whined and nudged him as the elevator went up at a remarkable speed. John almost braced himself. Hawkeye nodded. “Stark doesn’t like to wait, impatient bastard.”

“Geniuses.” John was thinking they were all the same. “Like I told Stark, I just want to stay under the radar.”

“Unfortunately for you, this is the Avengers.” Hawkeye seemed to mean that. “We’re not known for minding our own business.”

The door whipped open, and John led the way, going left because there was no right. Now, he was impressed with the facility: clean and well-lit, with comfortable seating and little nooks with coffee pots and Keurig’s scattered along the way. 

There was a small waiting room, very comfortably decorated, right before a big set of double doors that warned him not to go any further because doctors would gut him and use his organs for experiments. He looked back at Hawkeye. “You made the sign?”

“Nothing but the truth.” Hawkeye gestured at the waiting room. “Jarvis, is Coulson nearby?”

John felt his dog react and turned that way. A man about his own age, dressed in a bespoke suit, whose body language screamed ‘agent’ smirked at him. “Behind you, Clint.”

“Damn it, Phil.” Hawkeye frowned and flopped down on a sofa. Bear gave a gentle tug, and John let him loose to pile on top of Hawkeye, who clearly loved it.

“Agent Coulson?” John kept his body language open.

“And you’re the Man in the Suit.” Coulson didn’t offer his hand. “Nice to finally make your acquaintance. I was starting to think you were an urban legend.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just here to be with my friend, Mr. Wren, during his surgery.” John made sure his voice was perfect. “CIA? FBI?”

“Shield.” Coulson shrugged. “What’s left of it.” He sighed at Hawkeye and the dog. “You’re showering before I touch you again.”

“Don’t hurt his feelings.” Hawkeye frowned and went back to rubbing Bear’s belly. “Phil, I need a dog.”

“Not today.” Coulson made a gesture at the door. “Jarvis will keep us up to date and let you know when you can see him. I promise you he’s in the best medical facility on the planet.”

“Thank you.” John hadn’t believed anything he’d seen on the news about Shield. He had felt sorry for what he knew were good people being hounded out of their jobs. “So, you’re not Hydra?” He couldn’t resist.

Hawkeye groaned and banged his head on the sofa. “Well, shit. You’re dead, and I kinda liked you. At least I get your dog.”

Coulson smiled in a way that was mean as hell. It was impressive. “No.” One short word that flew out of his mouth like a bullet. “I’m going to need your gun.”

“And the knife. And the other gun, and whatever is up his sleeve. There are more, but I’m tired.” Hawkeye’s feet were draped over the top of the sofa, and Bear was sitting on him. John gave Coulson a look that dared him to take them.

“Jarvis, get Agent Reese his own murder bot.” Coulson stuffed his hands in his pockets, a clear sign that force wouldn’t be used. “It’s non-negotiable. Stark’s rules. No guns or weapons in medical. If you want to stay, you’ll comply. Otherwise, I’ll have Hawkeye remove you, and your furry companion, to the street.”

It was right on the tip of John’s tongue to say that he’d like to see Hawkeye try when the elevator pinged and a robot came rolling out. It looked very much like something from a movie. It came straight to him.

“Weapons, please,” it said, opening up a door in its middle section. “No weapons in medical.”

The murder bot, probably named by Hawkeye, flashed its light at him. John cast a look at the double doors behind which Harold was in surgery and decided not to argue. He put all of his weapons except his short knife inside.

“The smaller knife as well,” Coulson said with a cheesy grin that he knew was annoying. “And the garrote in your pocket.”

“It’s Mister Reese, not agent, and it’s a small one.” John rolled his eyes and put it all inside, watching the panel slide down. “I want that gun back. It’s my favorite.”

Hawkeye laughed. “Told you he was a superhero, like DareDevil.”

“I have yet to be impressed.” Coulson shooed the murder bot away. “You’ll get them back when you leave. Everyone around here understands about favorite guns.”

“Not Bruce.” Hawkeye slowly slid off the couch onto his hands and lifted himself into a flip that landed him on his feet. He stretched and patted Bear on the head. “And John? I can whup your ass.”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Go shower. You smell.”

With a strut, Hawkeye, followed by the murder bot, claimed the elevator. John found a chair that wasn’t too comfortable. He might take Hawkeye up on that ass-whupping later. “Jarvis?”

“The surgery is proceeding on schedule. Mr. Wren hasn’t coded as Dr. Cho feared, and I have raised his odds to eighty-seven percent for a full recovery.”

“Comforting.” John didn’t meet Coulson’s eyes. Coulson had to be a top-level agent at Shield and was playing a waiting game at the moment. John wanted him off balance. “You and Hawkeye fuck?”

“Quite a lot.” The crudeness didn’t even faze him. “How’s the leg from where your old handler in the CIA shot you?”

“Better.” John smiled, knowing it was creepy. “Most agents can’t afford bespoke. I guess Stark bank rolls Shield now.” It made sense. “You losing your edge?”

Coulson's expression never changed and his eyes were steady. John eased to his feet. "Bear, kijk maar."

Bear moved in on Coulson as John went to the double doors. He pushed, fairly hard, and the doors didn’t budge.

“Mr. Reese, the doors will remain locked until the surgery is over,” Jarvis said, cool as could be. “Threatening Director Coulson won’t open them.”

“Okay then.” John strolled back and gave Bear the hand signal. Bear bounded to him, and John slipped him a treat. “Good boy.”

Coulson was texting but slid his phone away. “Relax. Stark is doing you a favor, remember?”

John kept his game face on, but they both knew Stark’s motivations were his own. “What do you want?”

“We’ve been watching the Man in the Suit, not seriously, but occasionally. No super powers, that we know of, but you do seem to have impeccable timing.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” John decided to remain standing, leaning against the partition, and Bear settled at his feet.

“We provided backup once or twice, but I’m sure you were unaware.” Coulson crossed his legs and picked off a piece of non-existent lint. He was a smooth operator, better than anyone John had ever seen in the CIA. “Two things eluded us: your hideout and your partner.”

“So, everything important?” John checked the time, unable to believe that it’d only been an hour since the accident. “When do I meet Jarvis, Director?”

“Jarvis works for Stark.” But Coulson’s eyes had widened, for just a second, so John was missing something. “When did you first encounter Harold Wren?”

“I need coffee.” John clicked his fingers at Bear and walked down to one of the alcoves he’d seen with a Keurig. He chose a flavor, set the cup underneath, and waited. When it finished, he sat in the corner, blowing on it gently. “Jarvis?” he asked.

“Mr. Wren’s vitals are strong. I have increased his chances to ninety-two percent, barring any difficulty with his recovery from the anesthetic.”

John took a tiny sip and scanned for a surveillance camera but saw nothing. “Jarvis, are you a machine?”

“I am an artificial intelligence system that Mr. Stark built to help assist him and his properties.”

“Huh.” John sat back, unable to help himself from comparing two geniuses, each one building a machine capable of reasoning. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m pleased to meet you as well.” Jarvis did manage to sound pleased. “When Mr. Wren is recovered, I’d very much like to discuss with you both a mutual friend of ours.”

Instead of reacting to what could’ve been a reference to the Machine, John drank his coffee. He knew Coulson would take a run at him again, but that conversation could wait. If the Machine came up with a number, that could also wait. He shut his eyes for a moment, unsure he could actually do that. Harold was going to be mad enough. If he found out John had ignored numbers, it could turn extra ugly. He drew out his phone and stared down at the camera.

“Give us a day. Okay?”

“Who you talking to, man?” Hawkeye had a ball in his hand, tossing it in the air. His hair was slightly damp, testament to his shower. “Can I play with your dog?”

The temptation to snarl and snap was great, but John could see the hope in Bear’s eyes. “He needs to piss. Can you take care of that as well?”

“Sure!”

John gave Bear the command to go with Hawkeye and play, and Bear bounded around, acting like a puppy. Hawkeye snagged the leash, and they were gone. For some reason, John was sure Jarvis would keep an eye on Bear. As John suspected, it wasn’t long before Coulson came around the corner and made a coffee of his own.

“Keeping an eye on me?”

“Let’s not pretend you aren’t a dangerous man.” Once his coffee was made, Coulson took it to the other corner. “So, I pushed too hard. What will you tell me?”

It was an interesting question. “Harold got to me right before I ate a bullet. He gave me a purpose. I owe him.” John drained his coffee and set the empty cup aside. “And Hawkeye can’t have my dog.”

“Clint will pester me until we agree to get him one of his own. Don’t worry. Anyway, it’ll drive Stark crazy.” Coulson almost smiled. “Wren was actively recruited by nearly every alphabet agency in the US, right before he went to work for IFT. Then he fell off everyone’s radar. Not many people noticed when he died.”

It was interesting to hear this from a different perspective. John shrugged. “He just died once. Amateur.”

Coulson blinked and then laughed. It was a surprise. “Not everyone is as good at it as you are.” He drank his coffee and crossed his legs. “We want you to work for Shield.”

Now that was completely unexpected. John gave him the courtesy of not ridiculing him. “Since you guys are doing us a favor, I’ll tell you exactly what will happen once Harold is able to walk out of here.”

“You both will disappear.” Coulson nodded. “And that would be a terrible waste.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” John couldn’t see how Harold would agree to go on like they had been. “I work for him. He pays me actual money. He’s going to fire me and vanish. When he feels like it’s safe again, he’ll find someone new to help him.”

It hurt to say those words, but the truth usually did hurt. Coulson gave him the courtesy of not denying it.

"Mr. Reese, Dr. Cho has informed me that Mr. Wren is in recovery, and you may visit him there, where she will explain to you the expected outcomes of his surgery.”

John was moving for the double doors before the last word, not caring that Coulson was half-a-step behind. The way was obvious as the medical suite was small, and John zeroed in on the obvious lady-in-charge, Dr. Cho.

“How is he?” John blurted, unable to wait and not caring that he was showing weakness to Coulson.

“All things considered, well.” Dr. Cho opened her hand, and John stared down in horror at what he knew where the pieces of metal that had kept Harold’s neck together.

“What did you do?” He didn’t realize how far he’d loomed into her space until Coulson’s hand pressed down on his shoulder. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Help me understand this.”

“Mr. Wren was about three minutes from death when we got him on the table. Our options were limited. I made the decision to give him the Extremis virus.”

She paused, and Coulson made a very soft sound that John didn’t like at all. He forced himself to gently take the metal from her hand. He stared down at it. “I’m not going to like any of this, am I?”

“Why don’t you look in on him, and then I’ll ask Mr. Stark to meet with you.” She was gone in a blink, and John tucked the metal away in his pocket, going into the room to see his friend. He’d expected wires and tubes, but there were none except a lone IV. It was just Harold, no glasses, sleeping with a blanket tucked around him on a gurney.

John took a quick look back, but Coulson wasn’t in the room. “I should probably go.” He stood over Harold, knowing he’d made the right decision. “But I don’t care if you’re angry. You’re alive. I promise not to sign any more papers that I don’t intend to follow.”

Harold didn’t answer, sleeping, and eventually, John pulled a chair close and sat down to wait it out. No nurses came in, but then again, Jarvis was watching. John had no idea how long he’d been there when Stark came into the room, looked about and rolled his eyes.

“Jarvis? Really?”

“Mr. Wren is in recovery for another hour, and then he’ll be moved to the suite I have prepared for them both.”

John surged to his feet and went straight for him. Stark’s eyes blew wide and he backed quickly out of the room.

“Whoa, now.” Stark put up one hand. “If you punch me, Coulson will Taser you.”

“Let him try,” John growled. “What did you do to Harold? And don’t pretend it wasn’t you and your robots!”

“He knows you pretty well for a guy who just met you,” Coulson said from where he was leaning against a wall. “I’m going to check on Clint.”

Stark sighed. “Fine. Come on. We’ll sit down, and I’ll explain most of it.”

Angry, John still followed him back to one of the private alcoves. Stark sat down, flipped the arm of the chair up, and pulled a tablet out of the slot. “Extremis was a virus, developed by a friend of mine, with some assistance from myself, that helps people regenerate after catastrophic injuries.”

Sitting down, John pulled the pieces of metal out of his pocket and stared down at it. “Like broken necks.”

“Or holes in their chest.” Stark tapped himself on the chest. “Or lost limbs. The problem was the initial virus was very unstable. I spent some time tinkering with it and achieved some good results.” He looked John in the eye for a split second before going back to his tablet. “It hasn’t been through trials, of course, and we don’t know if there are long-term effects. I’m fine, so far, and other people who received it are fine as well, but it’s not FDA approved by any means.”

“Then why do you give it to people?” John asked, leaning forward and wanting to swat the tablet into the wall. He tossed the metal pieces towards the trash, hating them.

“Dr. Cho made the decision. Not me. Pepper says I can’t be trusted. She’s not wrong.” Stark sighed and shrugged. “I’m sure if there had been any other recourse, Dr. Cho would’ve done that instead. Harold’s neck was a disaster.”

“I know.” John felt his anger drain away. These people had done their best. It wasn’t their fault that Harold was going to hate him. “Promise me you’ll look after him, if I get called away.”

Stark looked up and blinked. “I’m the least likely person to ever ask that question.”

“You were his friend. None of these other people know him.” John got to his feet and went back to Harold, slumping down in the chair and rubbing his face. When Harold woke up, everything would change, and John wasn’t afraid of that, but he liked his job. He liked… Harold. “Damn it,” he whispered.

When nurses came through the door, John got out of the way, following them as they wheeled Harold to what was more like a very comfortable hotel room than a hospital room. They checked his vitals, fussed with this and that, and John paced, only watching out of the corner of his eye.

“Jarvis, how is Bear?”

Instead of an answer, there was a beam of light and then video, or real time, started playing, hanging in midair. Bear looked happy, chasing and barking. Hawkeye looked pretty pleased as well.

“How do you do that?” John was referring to the lack of any hardware for the image.

“I’m a genius.” Stark appeared on the screen as Hawkeye and Bear disappeared. “Dr. Cho tells me Harold is doing very well. He’ll probably sleep for ten more hours, give or take an hour. I suggest you shower, eat, and do whatever it is guard dogs do when their master is sleeping.”

The image clicked off before John could flip him off. John decided Stark wasn’t wrong about the shower thing, and sighed. “I’m starting to figure out why Harold didn’t like him.

“Jarvis, lock the door while I’m in the shower.”

The clicks of the locks were the answer to that, and John went to find the latrine. He took longer than a military shower, not excited about putting on dirty clothes but thinking that Jarvis would probably have a solution.

“Clothes?” he asked after he brushed his teeth from supplies he’d found in the bathroom.

“I took the liberty of stocking the closet with a wardrobe that I hope you find acceptable.” Jarvis was silent a moment. “I must say it’s refreshing to work with someone who doesn’t ask irritating questions about my person.”

John shrugged, finding it interesting Stark’s machine identified as a person. He cleaned up after himself as he went, wishing for his guns and finding the walk-in closet with no trouble. The array of black and white clothing was perfect. “Nicely done, Jarvis.”

“Thank you.”

Dressing quickly, he scooped up his phone, checking.

“Mr. Reese, you are on the medical floor. All cell phone transmissions are blocked.”

Freezing, John blew out a harsh breath. “Shit.” He tied his shoes and headed for the door. “Jarvis, can you get someone to sit with him?”

“Of course.”

The trip to the elevator took forever, but he wasn’t panicking, just investigating. He got out one floor down and stared down at his phone, counting to ten. When he hit eleven, he took a deep breath. Maybe Harold would just hate him, not have him killed.

His cell phone rang, and he put it to his ear. Sleep, he supposed, was for other men as he listened to the words. “Jarvis, I’m going to need my murder bot.”

“I’ll have it meet you in the parking garage. Mr. Reese, good luck.”

The elevator doors opened, and John went, glad for the speed now. Thirty levels down, the elevator halted, and Coulson came through the doors. “You need someone in your ear. I happen to be very good at that.”

“No.” But John knew he’d lost that fight. The elevator doors closed, and they were moving again. “Please ask Hawkeye to look after Bear.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Coulson waited until the doors opened. “I arranged for some transport.”

“I’m sure it’s subtle.” John would ditch him as soon as possible. He moved out into the parking garage, going to the driver’s side of a black SUV, standard issue for spies everywhere. Yanking open the door, he pulled out the driver and got inside.  
Coulson moved quick, taking shotgun, and one glance in the mirror confirmed what John’s nose had told him.

“This is gonna be fun,” Hawkeye said, and Bear barked in agreement. John drove the opposite way of the library, turned a few corners, and pulled right into a traffic jam. He had a moment’s hesitation about Bear, and then he barked the command and bolted out of the SUV, leaving the door open. Bear was right behind him as they ran down the street, ducking into an alley that John knew very well indeed. Now, if they’d put trackers on the clothes, he was screwed, but Coulson seemed more like the kind to clone a phone so John tossed it under a car immediately. 

Bear seemed to enjoy their back-alley journey, and they spent a good thirty minutes holed up in the back of a bodega, where he dug out one of his stashes and tossed Bear a treat.

The entrance to the library felt like home, and it was silly to hate that he’d have to give it up. He unhooked Bear’s leash and made sure there was water for him before going to find the books that would unlock the code of who was in trouble now. The damn ladder was in the way, and John ripped it off its metal track and threw it towards the stairs.

There was blood on the corner of the desk and the floor. John would clean it up later, or that was the plan, but Bear stuck his big nose down on it and whined. “I know. I know.” John used Clorox wipes to do the job, and Bear went to his bed.

The social security number was for a young man, Alan James, who for all purposes seemed like a happy go-lucky college student. John didn’t waste time staring down at Finch’s chair, wishing. With no one in his ear, he’d have to do this the old-fashioned way, and he made sure of the address while grabbing another phone.

Bear raised his head, and John turned as he drew his gun. Coulson, sunglasses firmly in place, stood not ten feet away. Hawkeye, at Coulson’s back, with an arrow drawn, pointed at John’s heart, said, “Not playing right now.”

John tilted his head, keeping his gun up. “This location has clearly been compromised.”

“You’re good. I’ll give you that.” Coulson tucked his sunglasses away. “But I have Hawkeye.” He might’ve smirked. “What’s the rush?”

They wouldn’t understand. The Avengers saved the world, not one person at a time. “Got a train to catch.” He considered all the angles.

“I will shoot you,” Hawkeye said. “Don’t make me.”

Coulson strolled closer, glancing this way and that. He didn’t look worried. Now they presented two targets, not one. John kept his gun on Hawkeye. “I need to go.”

“Stand down, Hawkeye,” Coulson said.

Hawkeye’s reaction was instant, and the bow was gone, arrow with it, onto his back. He was unarmed, and still dangerous as hell. John needed to get moving. He eased around the side of them, abandoned the library to their mercy, and went out the side door. One thing he knew for certain: Bear would be fine.

Before he could steal a car, Hawkeye stepped out of the shadows next to him. “Hang on, I got this.” He jacked the car almost effortlessly, sliding over to the passenger seat. John sighed in disgust but got in to drive. At least he got to drive.  
Hawkeye grinned, rolling down the window. He handed John an ear bud. “Here. Direct line to Coulson and Jarvis.”

“Damn it. Harold is going to have my balls for all of this.” John took it and tucked it in his ear. “Coulson?”

“Here.” Coulson sounded smug, and it was ugly. “These computer systems are impressive.”

“Harold will kill you if you reconfigure anything!” John snapped. “Don’t even move an icon!”

"He could do better with a little more access."

John could hear keys tapping in the background and nearly crashed the car. Hawkeye squawked out a protest, and John pulled over, getting out and striding away before he punched Hawkeye in the face. They were in his library. He’d done this. Shit. He was so dead.

“Jarvis, how is Harold?”

“He is sleeping comfortably. He hasn’t been alone.”

“Thank you.” John didn’t look back to see what decision Hawkeye had made, just striding along until he saw a taxi and waving his arm to flag it down. He gave the address and sat back to contemplate his life choices.

“Mr. Reese, the address you have is for his parent’s house. Your target currently resides in the Alpha Delta fraternity house on the campus of Hudson University.”

John sighed, stopped the cabbie, paid him well, and decided to walk. He wasn’t that far away, if he took a short cut. “Not a target. He could be the victim, or the perpetrator. I don’t know until I get there.”

“I suggest you hurry. The fraternities always go a little crazy before finals.”

Coulson sounded a lot like Finch, and John wanted to shoot him. He hurried, though, using a fire escape at one point, and not slowing down until he was pushing open the door of the fraternity.

“I need a description, Coulson.” John would laugh later at how stupid he’d been not to study the photo, but he’d been interrupted.

“Six foot, red hair, pale skin, freckles, likes to wear blue.”

The pounding music and writhing bodies pushed against him. “Coulson, call an ambulance.”

“He’s alive?”

“Haven’t found him yet. Just do it.” John cut through the crowd like a shark, trying to decide on whether to go upstairs or down, feeling every one of his years at the enthusiasm of the young for beer, loud music, and dancing. He’d never wanted to go to college, and maybe this was why. Someone pushed him, and his instincts said to go down the stairs. He somehow acquired a beer of his own, drained it, and went faster.

The scene in the basement might’ve been typical for a frat house, what did he know, but the redhead was clearly in distress. John shoved an idiot away, pulled the beer bong out of the number’s throat, gave him the Heimlich, and watched him puke beer everywhere before collapsing. The kid didn’t weigh much, and John rushed him upstairs and out the front door, pursued by yelling morons.

The ambulance arrived, and John put him on the gurney while drunkards spilled into the yard, chanting and dancing. The EMTs knew what they were doing, and a police car turned the corner to come at them. John slid away, and a motorcycle pulled up. Hawkeye grinned, and John swung aboard. They got moving.

“Good job, Mr. Reese.”

“Some of the numbers are easy.” John never understood how the machine knew, but it did, and that kid would live instead of dying in a basement. Hawkeye took them back to the library, and John directed him to a spot for the bike. They went in together, and Hawkeye practically bounced every step of the way, sliding down on the floor next to Bear, in his bed, like usual.

“Let’s do another one,” Hawkeye said.

“I know you’ve been bored,” Coulson drawled. He was thoroughly camped behind Harold’s computers, and John just stood by the table, glowering. “Yes, I know, but paired with the Shield database, you and Mr. Wren could make better connections.”

“Your system is impressive,” Jarvis said in John’s ear. “I promised Mr. Stark that I would stay out of it.”

“I hear regret, Jarvis.” John sat in the chair right next to Coulson. “Harold is ruthless. I expect he will dismantle Shield, top to bottom.”

“Captain America beat him to it.” Coulson didn’t even glance at him. “I know you’re angry, but your operation couldn’t stay secret forever. Accept that I’m going to be involved from this point forward and work with me.”

John sighed. “You don’t understand. I work for Harold. Like a job. I have a contract. This isn’t an operation. This is Harold, and he’s going to-.”

“Flip his wig? Go batshit crazy?” Hawkeye interrupted. “I think I’m going to like him.”

“You love a man in bespoke.” Coulson turned his chair slightly so he could face John. “I understand, and if Mr. Wren no longer wants to be involved, I’ll find someone who does.”

“Really.” John got to his feet and went to make a Hot Pocket. Bear thought it was an excellent time for a treat as well. Hawkeye sprawled on the floor, and John didn’t even know what to think. He told himself that he wasn’t interested in working for Shield, but he also knew he wanted to do this job. The fact was: Harold was going to kill him.

His phone chirped, and he looked down at the SMS message: STAY. He tucked it away, not caring that Hawkeye was looking interested. He tossed a biscuit to Bear and leaned against the door to eat his Hot Pocket.

“Can I have one?” Hawkeye sounded slightly plaintive.

“Sure,” John mumbled. He ate faster, knowing his time was limited. Two Hot Pockets later, the message came through, and Coulson made a slight sound of surprise.

“Code?”

John got the books and gave him the number. Coulson’s fingers flew across the keys, and John took the moment to check his guns. Hawkeye grinned. “Can I drive this time?”

“No.” John glanced at his watch. Two in the morning, and Harold should sleep another four hours maximum. “Coulson, we may need to call in Fusco and Carter on this one. I want to be there when Harold wakes up.”

“Noted.” Coulson didn’t ask who they were, and that meant he’d been poking in corners. “You should be aware that Detective Carter is in over her head. I’ll be surprised if she lives another year.”

Rage took him, hard and fast, and he bounced into Hawkeye’s chest before he realized he’d moved. Part of him was impressed how fast Hawkeye could protect his handler. “What the hell do you mean?”

“She’s not keeping her head down. Too idealistic.” Coulson never paid him the courtesy of a worried glance. “Between her involvement with you and HR, she has a target on her back.”

John knew that, but he’d protect her. He would. Somehow. “She’s a good cop.”

“She got you shot.”

“She apologized.”

Hawkeye laughed and stepped back, if not out of the way. “I bet Nat would like her.”

Coulson smirked. “Of that, I have no doubt. FBI is considering her, preparing an offer, but I think Shield is going to get there first.”

Too angry to think clearly, John left the library, going outside to clear his head. He slammed his fist into a wall and breathed, trying not blame himself. Carter would like Shield, and she’d be safe, or at least, safer. Fusco could make it. She couldn’t.

“Hey, you ready?”

“Tell me the truth. Is Hydra gone from Shield?” John wanted to grab him and shake him.

“Yes. Shield is very different now. Smaller. Leaner. Maybe not as mean, which I know is stupid, but Coulson disbanded all our Strike Recon teams.” Hawkeye shrugged. “She’ll have a great career at Shield, if she wants it.”

“Damn it.” John stomped back into the library. “You had no right to take over.” It needed to be said to Coulson.

“You had no right to run around like Captain America in a suit, stealing cars and shooting people in the knee, but here we are.” Coulson snapped up a glare at him. “You hurt innocents, whether you mean to or not. You let me handle Harold. I have some practice at dealing with stubborn, paranoid geniuses!”

“DareDevil got the same speech, without the genius part,” Hawkeye said, breaking the stare down between them. “And Luke Cage? Coulson is the reason he’s bald.”

Coulson’s glare shot over to Hawkeye, who grinned. “Sorry, boss.”

“Right.” Coulson rolled his eyes. “Clint, get over to your stash on 5th and change into Jim Hawk. John, if you have some larger artillery, I suggest you take one.”

John’s other earpiece chirped, and he pressed it. “Hello, Lionel.”

“You didn’t hear this from me, but word is HR is making a move in Elias’ territory tonight.”

“That makes no sense.” John went around to the computer screen and read the stats on their latest number. “Does Carter know?”

“No.” Lionel abruptly hung up.

“Fusco says HR is moving on Elias tonight.” He pointed at the picture of a middle-aged woman, Jess Smart. “For some reason, I think she’s connected.”

“She runs a bar called The Pig Stop.” Coulson pointed at Hawkeye. “Go. Meet him there.”

“On it.” Clint trotted off towards the stairs.

“He’s been bored.” Coulson scrolled through information. “Her financials suggest she’s involved in more than just bartending.”

“Pig Stop, huh.” John got up and went back to his cabinet. He put some extra rounds in his pockets and added an ankle holster. The grenade was probably overkill. He took it anyway. It was just a smoke one, after all. “Jarvis?”

“My original calculations are holding.”

John took a taxi halfway and then the subway the rest. It paid to be unpredictable. “Coulson, still with me?”

“Of course. While the Pig Stop is in Elias’ territory - Harold has quite a nice map - the lady in question is a former officer of the law. She quit last year amid a scandal that might’ve taken her badge otherwise. I’ll admit, I’m confused by the entire situation.”

It was a bar like any one of the thousands John had been inside in his life, but something was up, and he careful not to make eye contact with anyone, half-stumbling on his way to the bar, glad he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days.

“What’ll ya have?”

“Whatever’s on tap.” John slumped down in the seat, sighing like an old man, and hoping he looked the part of someone who was beat down. The beer was frothy, and he paid without complaint, taking an immediate drink.

“Slow down there, buddy! It’s just beer!” Hawkeye clapped him on the shoulder, making beer slosh on the bar.

John pushed him. “Back off.”

Hawkeye laughed and went to play darts. He was good at blending into a crowd, no sign of his Avenger persona. John drank his beer and eyed the victim, or perpetrator. She was working the bar like a pro, and he wondered why the owner wouldn’t have some help on a busy night like tonight. One beer down, John stumbled towards the latrine, using that as an opportunity to get the measure of the crowd. There were a lot of cops, and it didn’t make sense that HR would hit this place.

Maybe his gut had it all wrong, and he took a detour, stumbling into the backroom. Only in the movies was the answer behind the first door, but he took a moment to look around, checking to be sure there was nothing out of the ordinary. Giving up, he bumbled out the door and into the latrine, taking a piss and washing his hands.

“Mr. Reese, there is another group of policemen about to enter the bar.”

“Hawkeye, create a diversion please.”

John emerged to find everyone watching Hawkeye as he stood on a table, doing a very good rendition of some Bon Jovi song John hadn’t heard in years. John ducked under the bar, grabbed Ms. Smart and hustled her into the kitchen, which clearly hadn’t been used in some time.

“What the hell? Get your hands off me!”

“Why are the police coming to kill you?” John watched her eyes dilate and her chin sag, so she believed him . “Hurry. They’re almost here.”

“I refused to pay protection to HR. Elias takes a cut, and I’m not double-dipping!” She put her hands on her hips. “I wouldn’t do their dirty work on the job, and I’m not paying them now!”

“Mr. Reese, they are almost at the door.”

“Hawkeye, please start a brawl.”

The warble of Hawkeye’s voice cut off, and two seconds later, all hell broke loose. John looked her right in the eye. “Run, or try not to die. Choose.”

“No wonder everyone called in sick today.” She gave him a punch to the arm, and it actually hurt. “I’m picking the ‘try not to die’ option.”

“Coulson, call the police. Jarvis, do whatever you can. Hawkeye, for god’s sake, don’t kill anyone.” John pulled his gun, and they both went back to the bar in a rush. She grabbed her shotgun, fired it at the ceiling, people went flying, John shoved a guy off the bar, and the lights went out. He tossed his grenade, the sprinklers turned on, and John was fairly sure Hawkeye was laughing.

Someone managed to get the door open and people started staggering out, coughing from the smoke, and most had some sort of facial injury. “Hawkeye, how many guys did you punch?”

“All of them!”

Jess fired her shotgun into the ceiling again. “And stay the hell out!”

“I’ll get with Elias.” John took the shotgun from her and put it back under the bar. “But lay low for a few days.”

She patted him on the ass. “Will do.”

“Coulson, I’m headed to the Tower. Hawkeye, try not to spend the night in jail.”

“No promises!”

John pulled that earbud out and stuck it in his pocket. He left by way of the back door, stole a car, and headed for Harold. “Lionel, you still up?”

“Every cop in Manhattan is awake. You never do anything by halves, do you?”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t really involved.” John had to chuckle. “Make sure Elias knows she’s loyal, refusing HR.”

“Not your errand boy,” Fusco said, a little sharp.

“I’d ask Harold, but he’s out of town.” John waited, knowing Fusco would cave.

“I’m doing it for her. She was good police.”

“Thank you, Lionel.” John parked illegally and walked from there, almost feeling like he was heading to his doom. He didn’t think Harold would actually kill him. He really didn’t. No one stopped him from taking the nearest elevator. “Poor security, Jarvis.”

“I see you, Mr. Reese. Exit that elevator at the 50th floor and turn right. Go down the hallway to the elevator with gold accents.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.” John smirked. “I’m not late to the party, am I?”

“No. Your murder bot will meet you in the elevator.”

“Terrible name, Jarvis.”

“It makes Mr. Stark laugh, Mr. Reese.”

John dutifully put his weapons in the murder bot and eased the door open to Harold’s room. A nurse was sitting near the bed, and he smiled as he left. John gave him a nod and went to stand over his friend.

“Two more numbers, Finch. It wasn’t pretty, but the job is done.”

“Good,” Harold mumbled, not moving anything but his eyes, which suddenly popped open. “Where am I?”

Swallowing hard, John wasn’t sure what to say. “Bear hit the ladder.” He started with that. “You fell.”

“Oh.” Harold’s eyes slid side to side. “One of your safe houses, I suppose?”

There was no sound from the door, and Stark came into the room with an easy smile. He looked, and smelled, as if he’d been welding. “Harold, it’s good to see you. Mind and hand, huh?”

“Mr. Reese, would have you done?”

“Sorry, Finch,” John said with real regret. “I ran out of options.”

“So, you doomed me to a life as a paraplegic? And hired Stark to, what? Put my brain in a robot’s body?” Harold’s voice rose. “We signed a contract!”

“I couldn’t let you die.” John hunched his shoulders. This was going about how he’d expected.

Stark looked a little stunned. “He saved your life, Harold.”

“And we’d agreed he wouldn’t! Mr. Reese, you are fired. Take whatever money you want, keep the identities, but get out. Out!”

Dr. Cho was suddenly behind John, putting a gentle hand on his forearm. “Mr. Reese, please leave us for a moment.”

“Out!” Harold screamed it loud enough to be heard on the street. John flinched as if he’d been struck, but he was leaving. He nearly hit the doorjamb, got to the hallway, and locked his knees so he didn’t crumble. He was okay. He was rich, and he owned… things now. He’d be fine.

“You okay?”

Turning, John nearly dropped to the floor. A big, blond guy caught him, tucking his shoulder under John’s arm to keep him up. “Let me help.”

“I have to leave,” John said, hearing nothing but a whisper. “Now.”

“I’m sure it can wait until you’ve eaten and gotten some sleep.” The guy didn’t turn him loose. “I’m sure there’s an empty bed somewhere in this palace.”

John looked back. He should stay, just in case Harold needed him, or wanted to fire him again, or something. “My friend…”

“He’s in good hands. I promise.” The guy tugged him, just a bit. “Can you walk?”

The room spun a little, but John nodded. He whooshed out a harsh breath and started for the elevator. “I wasn’t even shot.”

“Always good news.”

“It helps.” John needed to pull away, but it was as if his body was shutting down. “Jarvis, tell him I’m sorry.”

********

None of his senses processed his location, and his hand went under his pillow to get his gun. When he came up empty, he panicked further, falling into a fighting stance.

“Where am I?”

“Avengers’ Tower. You fell asleep last night, and I found you a bed.” The blond had his hands up. “Steve Rogers. I didn’t get your name.”

“John Reese.” John scrubbed his hands through his hair: memories crashing in on him. He took a ragged breath. “I need to go.”

“Clint wants to see you first.” Rogers kept his hands visible. “You got a nice dog.”

“Shit.” John had never considered who got the dog in the divorce.

“You should shower, change, and then come eat. Bear wants to see you, and Clint wants to brag about how many dirty cops he punched in the face.”

It was right on the tip of his tongue to say no, when Jarvis said, “Mr. Reese, there hasn’t been another number, and Mr. Wren is sleeping.”

“Didn’t you hear, Jarvis? I was fired.” And John went to shower. He was done. Harold would find another poor schmuck thrown out of the CIA, and they’d work the numbers. Muscle like him was easy to hire. Taking off his clothes, more of a uniform, he tossed the phone and the earbuds in the trash. “Jarvis is there a tracker on me?”

“Not any longer.”

The answer was good enough, and he showered for much longer than usual, taking his time, even shaving. This bathroom was nicer than most places he’d lived in his life. He stretched out his muscles, finally sitting to let the water beat down on him. When his fingers pruned, he surged up, the water snapped off, and he went to face what was left of his life.

Bear romped around him, prancing the entire way as John followed his nose to a table laden with food. Rogers was already there, eating like it was his last meal. Hawkeye grinned up at him. “Pull up a chair. Phil made pancakes.”

“With steak?” John wasn’t arguing. He was just naturally curious. “What time is it?”

“It is four thirty-five in the afternoon,” Jarvis said.

“I love pancakes,” Hawkeye mumbled around a mouthful, and that was why Coulson had made them. John filled his plate and ate methodically, not really tasting it. He avoided the pancakes, in case Hawkeye was the possessive sort.

“Thanks,” he said to Rogers, halfway through a steak.

“Not a problem.” Rogers smiled, and that’s when John got it. He probably should’ve blushed, or at least stammered. It wasn’t every day he had dinner with Captain America, but John just didn’t have the energy.

“So, Steve, how do you like Manhattan?” John put the slightest emphasis on the name.

“He figured it out,” Hawkeye said. “And he didn’t even stammer.”

“He’s Army.” Steve sounded proud about that. “But to answer the question, honestly, living in this time is so strange it doesn’t seem to matter where I lay my head at night.” He leaned back in his chair, snagged a beer from the fridge and slid it down to John. “Clint tells me you’re good in a fight.”

“Here we go.” Hawkeye laughed.

“Not really.” John wasn’t going to fight Captain America. “Did Hawkeye tell you about his fabulous… singing last night?”

Hawkeye squinted one eye at him. “I _was_ fabulous.”

“That’s what I said. Bon Jovi was never done better.” John tried to smile, not sure he was faking it.

Steve laughed. “Clint loves karaoke night.” He grinned. “Tony does too.”

“Now that’s hard to picture.” John considered another steak and grunted his gratitude when Hawkeye slid another one on his plate.

“Good morning, Mr. Reese,” Coulson said, coming around the corner with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Coulson.” John needed to say something. “You did a good job last night. Thanks.”

Hawkeye raised his eyebrows, and Steve was still grinning. Coulson bobbed his head as he sat down at the table. “My pleasure.” He grabbed a plate and started with fruit. “Clint hasn’t had that much fun in years.”

“Probably since Bolivia.” Hawkeye nodded. “If that Fusco guy hadn’t recognized me, I’d have probably gone to jail.”

John blinked at him. “Really?”

“His kid’s a big fan.” Hawkeye was eyeing the last of the pancakes. “I might’ve promised to stop over and sign some merch.”

“Fusco’s son is a good kid. Don’t let him down.” John could see by the pinch of Coulson’s mouth that he’d said the wrong thing, but he didn’t care. “I can go with you, if you want.”

"Can I go?" Steve asked. "We can grab some hot dogs afterwards."

While John frowned in confusion, they all laughed. Hawkeye took pity on him. “Cap is famous for eating most of a cart.”

“I was hungry.” Steve might’ve whined a little. “I’m still growing.”

Coulson chuckled. “Hawkeye can go alone. If John gets a number, he’ll need some backup, so you’ll be up, Cap.”

While Steve actually looked eager, John shoved his plate away and got to his feet. “Talk to Harold about the next number. I don’t work for him any longer.” He had to get back to his apartment, maybe pack, maybe leave the country. “I’m going to see how much actual money I have and start packing. Thanks for everything.”

No one said a word. John stared down at Bear, who was gnawing on a steak that Hawkeye had slipped him. Harold would need him, and Hawkeye would watch him in the meantime. John would give him up. Decision made, John picked up speed as he went, and he was in the elevator heading downward when it halted and reversed direction. “Jarvis?”

“My apologies, Mr. Reese, but Mr. Stark would like to speak with you, and he does, as they say, pay the bills.”

“Damn it, Jarvis.” But John understood. The elevator went past the medical floor, which was a small relief followed by huge guilt, and came to a stop at what he thought was the penthouse. The doors opened, and he stepped out into a room with a view to kill for, especially in New York. Unable to help himself, he moved around the sofas and stepped out onto a patio with glass railings. He could see for miles, and he’d swear the air was thinner up here. Over to his right was a landing pad for helicopters, or Iron Man, and John was never impressed by money, but this was something else entirely.

“Nice view, huh?”

“Who did you bribe to get the permits for this place?” John made his way around to the launch pad and walked out on it, feeling like a king.

“Everyone.” Stark paced him out to the end. “Please don’t jump. I have plenty of time to catch you, and it’ll upset Cap.”

“From this height, I bet you have plenty of time at terminal velocity.” John wanted to throw a penny over the side to see the dent it would make.

“Yes, yes you do.” Stark shoved his hands in his khakis. Today, he was dressed casually, but he was clean, no grease. “Several things you need to know, before you ride off into the sunset.”

“Or jump.” John smiled, not a happy face.

“Harold isn’t paralyzed. Well, he is, but it’s temporary. This is the thing. The Extremis virus takes over and heals the body, but there’s a disconnect between the brain and the body when it’s over. It’s like… the brain has to reboot to the hard drive to run the software again.”

John frowned, understanding but not liking it. “So, what’s the problem?”

“It takes a while. Everyone is different. It took me five days to shake it off, but I was in excellent shape when I received the virus.” Stark turned to face the wind, giving John his back. His words were whipped away, and John had to move to face him to catch his next sentence. “Harold’s body was a disaster zone. Between the injuries, the scar tissue, lack of muscle tone, and his opioid addiction, well, we just don’t know how long it will be before he regains control of his body.”

John needed to sit down. He strode back inside, fixed himself a drink, and downed it. After refilling two fingers worth of very fine whiskey, he grabbed an extra glass and poured Stark one. They drank together. “He really is going to have me killed.”

“Not for a while. His fingers can’t work the keyboard.” Stark flashed a grin at his own insensitive joke. “It hurts, the process of rebooting, and he can’t have painkillers because of the virus blah blah blah. I doubt you care about the details, but it hurts, a lot.”

Stark poured John a double. “I may go to Dubai. Harold can probably reprogram Jarvis with the power of his anger.”

“Sir, that’s not possible.”

John sipped his whiskey, nearly gasping from all the bad news. “I should’ve stayed in China.”

“Probably.” Stark wandered off with his whiskey, finding a sofa and making himself comfortable. “He’s really pissed, and he needs his friend. The sight of me seems to make him angrier.”

“What did you do?” John moved to sit across from him, curious in spite of himself.

“Specialized in weapons.” Stark shrugged. “Family business. I’m not sure what he expected from me on that.”

“He doesn’t like guns.” John could picture it all very easily. “I can’t leave.”

“You’re his friend, or so you said, and he needs one right now, even if he’s too stubborn to see it.”

The elevator opened and Hawkeye, Coulson, and Steve piled out, with Bear dashing to him. They looked as if they didn’t want to interrupt but were dying of curiosity. John almost laughed. Stark waved his drink at them. “We’re getting drunk.”

John slugged his drink back again. Yes, yes, he was, and then he’d face the tiger in his den.

********

The light was very bright, and John had no idea where he was, but bits of random information floated through his brain. Hawkeye really was the finest marksman alive, at least with darts. Stark had a very unhealthy relationship with his AI, and Steve needed therapy because no one should be that nice.

A long tongue licking his face made John groan, and he pushed Bear away, rolling off a sofa to land with a thump on the floor. “Stop, Bear.”

Bear whined and sat on John’s back, which wasn’t very helpful. Someone laughed, but they were groaning as well.

“Jarvis, turn off the sun,” Stark whispered from somewhere.

Steve, at least John thought it was Steve, spoke to Bear in perfect Dutch, getting him moving off and helping John to his wobbly feet. “I’m shoving John in a shower and then I’ll be back for you, Stark.”

John squinted, wished Steve would talk in a lower voice, and tried to act as if he could walk on his own. “Is Hawkeye alive?”

“Phil dragged him down to their apartment.” Steve hauled him along without any trouble. “I’m glad you’re sticking around.”

“Grunts gotta stick together.” John hesitated at the door to the small suite of rooms where Jarvis had put him and Harold. “Thanks. I got it from here.”

Steve nodded. “Good luck.” And he left. John patted Bear on the head for strength and went inside. A different nurse got to her feet, smiled, and left without a word. Harold appeared to be sleeping, but John didn’t tiptoe, and Bear ran to a dog bed near a window before flopping down. There was a bowl of water nearby.

“Jarvis, do I need to feed Bear?”

“I put him on a schedule, and I will ping you when it’s time.”

“A yes or no would’ve been fine,” John grumbled, going to the fridge and snagging a water. He drank it all before coming up for air.

“Who is there, please?” Harold’s voice rang out loud enough to make John flinch around eyes.

“It’s me, Harold.” John tossed the bottle in recycling and strolled over to him, knowing he looked like a drunk. “I’m in desperate need of a shower.”

“I’m fairly certain I remember firing you,” Harold snapped.

“You did, and honestly, I’m relieved. Your voice was always yammering in my ear.” John started on his buttons, fingers feeling thick and useless. He gave up after two and pulled a large La-Z-Boy over by Finch’s bed. His body gave up, collapsing back with a groan, and he pulled the extension up. “This chair is heaven.” It was actually made for a taller man.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not anymore. I think.” John yawned and decided not to move for a while.

“I have no idea why you’re even here.” Harold sounded confused, maybe even a little sad.

“I’m your friend, moron.” John had planned to be nicer, but that was before a lot of whiskey had flowed through his veins. “You can’t fire me from that.”

There was a moment of silence. “I suppose not.”

John couldn’t keep his eyes open. “Have you played chess with Jarvis yet?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t talk. I’m still very angry with you.”

“Jarvis.” John cracked an eye to watch an image of a chess board pop into being right over Harold’s face. “You might want to raise the bed a little.”

The front of the bed started tilting until Harold was more upright. It was clear he couldn’t move any part of his body, not even his shoulders. “Thank you for violating every right I have as a patient!”

“You’re welcome.” John felt himself starting to drift. “You can yell at me some more when I wake up.”

“I’ll take you up on that!”

********

"The coding there is clunky," Harold said.

“It got the job done,” Stark replied. “I was in a rush.”

“You could fix it now. Jarvis would appreciate you taking out the trash from time to time.”

“I’m pretty sure he just ignores the trash.” Stark laughed. “But fine, deleting, and rewriting. Watch me code, baby.”

Harold snorted. “Watching this hurts my soul worse than your fashion sense.”

“Okay, now I’m offended.”

“You wore a kilt! To graduation!”

“The boots really made that outfit.” Stark made a humming noise, and John sat up, shaking the cobwebs from his head. He only glanced at their computer interface before going to the bathroom. Bear trotted along with him and drank from the toilet before John could unzip his trousers.

“Really?”

Bear finished, and John got his turn, stripping off his clothes afterwards. The shower turned on, and Bear picked that moment to jump in the hot tub. John panicked for one second and then rolled his eyes. “Do you like living in luxury too, Bear?”

Bear woofed, and John got in the shower with a grin on his face. When he got out, he felt remarkably good, considering, and he went to dress in something that wasn’t a suit. The jeans fit well, and he yanked on a Hawkeye T-shirt, knowing it would make him smile.

When he stepped out of the closet, he saw Bear, half-wrapped in towels, and Hawkeye desperately trying to dry him. John snapped out a command to sit and stay.

“Aw, you wore my shirt. I knew you liked me!”

“My apologies, Mr. Reese, but someone had to deal with Bear,” Jarvis said.

“Not a problem. I get the feeling privacy isn’t a thing Avengers do.” John helped get Bear a little bit drier while shooting small glances over at Harold. Harold had a look on his face that John had never seen, and John wondered if it was time to start running.

“Bear thought it would be an excellent idea to share his hot tub adventure with me,” Harold grumped. “And it’s not as if I could stop him!”

“You know the commands, Harold.” John refused to buy into that, scrubbing at the dog a bit harder since Hawkeye was mostly useless. “Clint, would you mind taking Bear for a walk?”

“Sure.” Hawkeye rubbed Bear’s head one more time. “We’ll go get in the wall dryer, too.”

Tilting his head, John watched them bound away together. “A wall dryer? And why was he messing with towels if that was an option?”

“Some people don’t appreciate towels, so the wall blows warm air.” Harold squinted at him. “Have you seen my glasses?”

“Let’s not pretend you need them.” John took all the towels to the laundry chute and considered whether socks were necessary for today. He decided against them and padded back to the kitchen, snagging a water from the fridge. “Want anything?”

“Are you going to hand feed me?” Harold’s voice was sharper than a knife.

“Yes.” John noticed a teapot. “How about I make you some tea?”

Harold glared at him, so John took that as a ‘yes.’ It didn’t take long to boil the water, and Jarvis directed him to the supply of tea and sugar. John made the Sencha tea correctly, having watched Harold do it often enough. “Perhaps Harold would like a wheelchair, Jarvis.”

“No, Harold wouldn’t!” Harold seemed sure about that.

“I could take you to see the robots.” John couldn’t stay in this apartment for weeks. He’d go nuts. “We could run over Stark’s toes.”

“As attractive as that is, I’d rather stay in bed.”

“Mr. Wren, we must keep your body on different surfaces so you don’t get bedsores.”

John saw Harold wince around the eyes. “Wheelchair, it is. Jarvis get a fancy one, with a cup holder for me and a place to hide my gun.”

Harold rolled his eyes. “Perhaps one that won’t let me slide to the floor is more important. Head support and the like.”

“I will do my best to meet all requirements,” Jarvis said.

The tea was ready, and John didn’t fill the mug all the way because if he doused Harold with tea, he’d be fired again. Harold’s eyes, different without the glasses, glared at him, but he took a sip without spitting it out. He swallowed, almost seeming surprised at it.

“So, your throat works,” John put the tea down and opened his water. “Have you eaten solid food?”

“No. Dr. Cho explained to me that I would be on a strict, timed high-protein liquid diet for the next two days.” Harold’s hair was tufted, and John resisted the urge to brush it into place. “Nurses will be taking care of my bodily functions.”

“No wonder you’re pissy.” John drank his water and then Harold accepted more tea. “I guess you’ll just have to think of England.”

Harold scrunched up his face. “I can’t ruin your credit scores from this bed, I suppose.”

“Like I have credit.” John laughed. “Just sell my apartment without me knowing. That’ll hurt.”

“Because you won’t have time to collect your weapons?”

“Among other things.” John wasn’t worried. He took another sip of water and helped Harold with a drink. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” Harold said the word like pain was an old friend. “Like my hip on a winter’s day, but all over my body.”

John wanted answers on another topic, but it took him a moment to find the words. “I didn’t realize you were on opioids.”

“Tea, please.” Harold drank and licked his lips afterwards. “Small doses throughout the day for the pain.”

There was no reason to mention the side effects and problems that come with a regimen of painkillers. John’s stomach gave a gurgle, and he wandered to the fridge. There were hoagies, looking fresh made, and he snagged one. He sat at a small table and ate it, getting up twice to give Harold some tea, and the silence was thick with unsaid words.

“Jarvis, this apartment is gloomy,” John said. His words initiated a series of unexpected actions. Drapes pulled, furniture literally disappeared into the floor, and the walls took on another color, much lighter than before: leaving John with his eyebrows up.

“I prefer to just buy a different building.” Harold sniffed, as if the blatant technology offended him. The furniture returned, this time in lighter colors and more modern styles. John was glad Jarvis hadn’t touched his La-Z-Boy. Sunlight poured into the rooms, and John went to stare out one of the windows. Before either could comment, there was a knock on the door, and John went to get it. For some reason, the tips of Steve’s ears were pink.

“Hi, Steve. Come in. Jarvis just redecorated.”

“Tony likes to do that to my apartment while I’m out.” Steve sighed as if having someone like Tony as a friend was hell. “He means well.”

“No, no, he doesn’t,” Harold said.

John gestured for Steve to come all the way inside. “Steve Rogers, Harold Wren.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said in a pure Brooklyn accent. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to see if John’d like to spar.”

“With you?” John was sure he sounded like an idiot.

“Please take him away. He makes me want to hire people to bomb his apartment,” Harold said, but there was no real bite in the words. “Jarvis, can you do something about the wet dog smell?”

Looking down at his clothes, John hesitated.

“There’s a locker room that you won’t believe.” Steve smiled over at Harold. “Have a good day, Mr. Wren. Thank you.”

Harold blinked several times. “For what?”

“Tony explained that you’re a real hero, not like him.” Steve shrugged. “Thank you for your service to America.”

John had a moment of panic where he thought Harold might pass out, and then Harold sputtered, “W-well, you’re welcome. Please, leave.”

Steve nodded, not looking offended at all, and John followed him on bare feet, not wanting to go search for shoes. “We should pick up Bear.”

“Clint, John and I are going to spar. Meet up?”

“You bet!”

“That takes some getting used to,” John said. “Is Jarvis everywhere?”

“Yep.” Steve nodded. “When I need a break, I have an apartment in Washington. I clear my head, protest a little, and come back with a fresh perspective.”

“Captain America joins a protest?” John wanted to gape at him.

“No, but Steve Rogers does. Our government had lost any concept of freedom of speech and privacy.” Steve somehow managed to look heroic without the suit. “And don’t get me started on the resurgence of Nazis in America.”

John made a promise to himself not to bring it up. “Tony Stark is a real hero.” He needed to say it, and he didn’t want to think about why.

“My fault. I, might’ve said… some stuff, not knowing that Tony has the world’s largest ego coupled with the world’s smallest self-esteem.” Steve sighed. “He is a hero.”

“Long as we’re clear on that.” John was glad the elevator opened, and he could pretend not to gawk at the beautiful workout facility. “Jarvis, you’ll call me if Harold needs me, right?”

“I will, indeed,” Jarvis promised. “Harold and I are discussing the merit behind draining the hot tub at the moment.”

“Poor Bear. Harold wants to take away his pool.” John whistled and Bear tore around a corner, launching himself at him. They wrestled, and John caught the ball Hawkeye tossed him to throw it for Bear. “Good dog!”

“More of a cat person,” Steve muttered, disappearing through one of the doors that probably led to a locker room. Hawkeye laughed and dashed after the next toss with Bear beating him to it. John wandered to the nearest wall and stared up at all the beautiful weapons. Some of them he didn’t know how to use, but they were still gorgeous.

Hawkeye put his bent arm on John’s shoulder and leaned. “Nice, huh? Pick one for sparring with Cap. You’ll need it.”

“I usually just shoot their knees.” John had seen the footage of Captain America fighting, and it was hard to picture going up against him. “What’s your recommendation?”

“Staff, if you know how to use it. If he gets close, well, his right hook is a killer.” Hawkeye went to the wall and picked out a wooden katana, practice sword. “You want the front or back?”

John was irrationally glad to hear he wasn’t in this fight alone. “We can use Bear, too.”

“Let’s not piss off Captain America,” Hawkeye warned.

“I gotta change clothes.” John trotted in the direction Steve had gone, finding him more or less ready but willing to show John where everything was stored. John changed into sweats, left on the Hawkeye shirt, and put on socks and Nikes.

“Don’t hurt me, okay?” John had to say it.

Steve smirked, which wasn’t reassuring, and they went out together. John retrieved the staff, Hawkeye circled around Steve’s back, and Bear tilted his head, listening to his commands. Steve gave them all a look and ran right at John. Someone not trained in combat probably would’ve screamed and dropped his weapon. John expected Steve to go high, so he swept low and came up high sharp and hard as Bear tried to catch Steve’s pants in his mouth.

“Hey!” Steve yelped, losing some fabric and diving to spin into a kick that nearly put Hawkeye on the ground. Bear was after him again, and Steve jumped over him and tried to punch John in the head. John swatted him and then went for the jab, which was a mistake as the staff was yanked away. Steve tossed it to Bear, who couldn’t resist a stick, and in that second, Hawkeye put Steve on the floor. John circled, seeing how Steve would get up, and tried to punch him in the face.

Blocking, Steve rolled and John dived over him. Hawkeye whooped and did some very unnecessary gymnastics, trying to take Steve down again.

“Rangers lead the way!” The shout echoed through the gym, and John didn’t think. He attacked.

“All the damn way!” he shouted, throwing everything he had at Steve, who was faster on his feet than anyone had a right to be, and John thought he was going down when Hawkeye threw a tennis ball at Steve’s head. Steve caught it, Bear tackled him for the ball, and John piled on with Hawkeye getting the other side.

“That was cheating!” Steve yelled, collapsing and laughing. “Get off me, you jerks!”

Grinning, John slid off him and sat on the mats, pulling Bear close and rubbing his head, telling him to stand down in Dutch. Bear licked John’s face and flopped down, tongue hanging out. Hawkeye looked much the same, rolling off when Steve lurched to his feet.

“Cheaters!” Steve retrieved a towel and scrubbed at his head. “There is dog slobber in my hair!”

“Good boy,” John said. “Jarvis, lay in a steak for Bear’s dinner tonight.”

“Top sirloin to the winner.”

Coulson had a small smirk on his face. “Well-deserved.” He was the one who’d shouted the Rangers’ motto. “I wonder what branch of the services Bear was in?”

“Navy Seal,” Jarvis said. “He’s chipped, and the theft of military dogs is so rare that his was easy to track.”

John had known that. He eased to his feet and stuck out his hand. “Good fight.”

Steve shook John’s hand immediately. “Next time, I won’t spot you a shield.”

“Next time, I’ll bring my gun.” John took a long stretch before going to change into his jeans. He grabbed a quick shower first before retrieving Bear and going back to his suite and Harold. He hurt in places where he hadn’t known he was taking a blow, but he felt good. 

“Did you have fun, Mr. Reese?”

“It was delightful.” John sprawled in his chair, stifling a groan or two. Bear went to his own bed, and Harold was reading something projected over his face. Time dribbled away, and John actually flinched when Jarvis spoke up.

“Dinner is being served in the main lounge in fifteen minutes.”

John’s stomach approved of that. “You heard the man, Harold. Let’s get moving.” He’d noticed the shiny wheelchair by the bed. It looked custom built, most likely by Stark, which made it one-of-a-kind. He went to piss, washed up, and went back out to his friend. “Harold?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Why?” John asked bluntly.

“Let’s say this isn’t how I’m accustomed to being introduced to people.” Harold sniffed. “I’ll nap.”

“I’m hungry.” John felt like he didn’t have words for all this. “No one will judge you for your lack of mobility.”

“Really?” Harold frowned. “Go away, Mr. Reese.”

A digital window snapped into place, and Tony grinned at them. “Come on, Harold. We’re going to watch the Yankees play the Red Sox, and watching Steve watch baseball is a real treat.”

“I hate you and your machines.”

“I know.” Tony disappeared, and John spread his hands, unable to find a sentence that could help the situation.

Harold rolled his eyes. “Fine. But just one look of pity, and I’ll have my private doctor here to take me home within the hour.”

John couldn’t help but wonder what had kept Harold from doing that earlier. “Chair has nice padding.” That was all he came up with, and he moved Harold into it quickly, without lingering and enjoying the touches. There were padded straps, and he double-checked that they were fastened correctly. “Jarvis, watch for lack of blood flow. He can’t feel if it’s too tight.”

“Yes, Mr. Reese.”

The chair had an engine, and Harold said, “Jarvis, I’d prefer you drive.”

“It’d be a privilege.” Jarvis was such a suck up, and John knelt to make sure Harold’s socked feet were in position and secured. When he looked up, Harold was glaring at him, chin against his chest.

“Head strap, Mr. Reese.”

“Sure.” John moved Harold’s head back against the rest and attached the strap against his forehead. “I know you can feel that. Is it okay?”

“It is. Now, move.”

The chair almost clipped him, but John thought he had the advantage because someone had to open the door. Jarvis took care of that, as well, and Harold was gone, wheelchair almost silent with Bear in hot pursuit.

“Stark?”

“Yeah?” Tony answered, voice only.

“Did you put artillery in that chair?”

Stark laughed, which was no answer at all. John shrugged and went to put on a clean shirt for dinner. He went with a basic black T and check his hair before going down to find that he was the last to arrive. He knew his smile was awkward, and the only open chair around a large square table was next to Bruce Banner, who had his own pained smile in place.

“John Reese.” John put out his hand, half expecting not to get it back.

“Bruce Banner.” Bruce shook hands with him, lop-sided smile turning more honest. “Glad to meet you.”

John didn’t see how that was possible. He nodded and made sure Bear was behaving under the table.

“Steve was telling me that you’re a big cheater,” Bruce said with a sparkle in his eyes.

“It was the dog.” John kept a very even tone. Finch looked fine, camped out by Stark and Coulson, having no problem conversing. Since the plates were still empty, John expected a wave of waiters to enter, bearing platters full of food. Instead, a couple of guys brought in more boxes of pizza than John had ever seen in one place. Hawkeye was very possessive about the pineapple one, and Bruce made sure the vegetarian one was close by. John snagged whatever was closest, not really caring, and he swore Steve ate an entire pizza in the time it took him to eat two pieces.

“It’s like being back in the frat house,” Finch said, dropping his words into a moment of silence.

"Never went to college,” Hawkeye said. “You?” He pointed at John with his pizza slice.

“Went to the Army instead.” John never regretted choosing that over jail.

“I was too poor to join a frat,” Steve added.

“What degree do you have, Mr. Rogers?” Finch asked. John was curious as well, and it was fun watching Tony sputter at Finch’s formality.

“Call me Steve, please.” Steve blushed a little. “I attended Auburndale Art School for a year.”

John could see the interest spark in Finch’s eyes.

“I made a donation there just last year.” Finch paused. “Perhaps we can discuss your artwork later.”

“Sure.” Steve was definitely blushing now.

“I have some of his early works stored.” Tony reached to grab a piece, fielding the look of astonishment from Steve. “What? My dad was obsessed with you. We know this.”

“The Smithsonian has a few of them as well,” Coulson said. “Not a word, Clint.”

“I would never discuss whatever it is you have stashed in a box labeled ‘Private’ and ‘That means you, Clint.’”

Bruce laughed, and Stark joined him. “Steve, I’m not hiding any of your artwork in my closet.”

“Thank God,” Steve said, frowning. “It was all rubbish.”

“So, we can see what’s in your sketchbook? All ten of them?” Star asked, mouth full and garnering a side-eye from Finch.

“Absolutely not.” Steve glared. “Okay, maybe Mr. Wren, because he seems like a swell guy, but not you bunch of jerks.”

“Hey! We resemble that remark!” Hawkeye laughed.

They broke into squabbling, and John smiled before easing away from the table. He made his way to the nearest bar fridge and uncapped a bottle of beer, enjoying a long drink. Satisfied, he spotted a small sofa near a window and went to stare out at the city. Being in Avengers’ Tower was beyond strange, and no one would ever believe the stories he could tell.

Bear snuffled at John’s hand, and he stroked his head. “What a place, huh, Bear?”

“Mr. Reese, I have an incoming call for you,” Jarvis said.

John drank some beer before answering. “If you gotta.”

“Jobs, Samuel, Ralph, Music, Alpha, Roger, Wine, Break, Time.”

“Damn it,” John whispered. He placed his beer carefully down. He hadn’t wanted to make this decision right away, but the Machine never gave a damn about what John wanted.

“Mr. Reese?” Coulson was close, and Hawkeye was at his shoulder.

It felt as if time ground to a halt, and he didn’t take a breath for what seemed like forever.

“They know?” Finch’s voice dropped into John’s lap like a grenade. John bowed his head, trying to decide what he wanted. What he wanted was usually out of reach. What he wanted was usually impossible. He lifted his face to meet Finch’s furious eyes.

“They knew. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business across town.” John clicked his fingers for his dog and didn’t let any of the words behind him slow him down. He didn’t work for Finch any longer, and it didn’t matter. He still worked for the Machine, and he was surprisingly okay with that. When he hit the parking garage, there was a car waiting, engine running, no driver, and he went two blocks before he noticed the cell phone and the ear bud sitting on the seat next to him.

“I’m getting soft,” he grumbled, tucking the bud in his ear. “Talk to me.”

“Mr. Reese,” Finch said. “Director Coulson and I are still having words.”

“Good to know.” John had known since almost the beginning that he was Finch’s friend, but he was no longer sure that Finch was John’s friend. Maybe it had been all about the contracts and keeping John happy and working the numbers. Moments of what he’d thought were friendship flickered through his mind, but Harold managed identities like other people organized their socks. It was possible that one of the Harold personas invested enough time in John to keep him working. Kara had done something similar. “I don’t work for you.”

“That’s becoming clear.” Finch’s voice was drier than dust. “Tony has informed me twice that the contract we signed was clearly illegal.”

John let that slide away, parking carefully and using the tunnel to access the Library, even though it was darker than light out. He bypassed the computer table, made sure Bear had water, and went to change into one of his suits. It was time to go to work.

He half-expected someone to be at the computers when he came out, but the Library was empty, and he retrieved the proper books to find out the social security number.

Turning on the computers took a minute, and he nearly winced when the first thing that popped up was Finch’s face. “Warn a guy, will ya?”

“I will be assisting you from this location. However, Director Coulson insists that you have backup in the field.”

“Don’t need it.” John put the number in the generator, and this time he didn’t have to study the picture while it printed. He taped it on the cracked glass. “Well, this isn’t good.”

“One moment, please,” Finch said.

John slumped down into the chair, opened a drawer, and found a phone. He dialed.

“Fusco.”

“Lionel.” John was glad to hear his asset’s voice, not that he’d mention it. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want?” Fusco snarled.

That wasn’t the answer John wanted to hear. He hesitated. “How’s Carter?”

“She’s good, or at least I hear that, not having seen her lately.” Fusco wasn’t cheering up. “Word is she’s on vacation. I don’t believe it.”

“I’ll look into it.” John hung up and got to his feet. If anything had happened to her, well, it’d be ugly. He made sure he had a few odds and ends, visited a gun stash, cursed because he’d forgotten his favorite in his murder bot, and rolled his eyes at how stupid his life had become. A little extra ammo, and he was back tracking to the car.

“Mr. Reese?”

“That was longer than a moment, Finch.” John pulled away from the curb, heading for the precinct. “Where’s Carter?”

“She put in for vacation, and her and her son are currently at a Shield facility for her interview.”

“Coulson moves fast.” John admired that in an alphabet agency.

“Director Coulson is very concerned that her life depends on her taking the job he plans to offer her.” Finch didn’t sound convinced. “Are you meeting with Detective Fusco?”

“Headed there. He’s worried about her.” John checked the time, surprised to see it was after seven. “Guess he’s working late.”

Finch didn’t reply, and John brazenly parked near the precinct, instead of walking. He ducked around to the side street with the garage and slapped a GPS locater on Fusco’s car before heading inside. Flashing his badge, he went directly to the latrine, intending to call him, but it must’ve been his lucky day because Fusco was washing his hands. John stayed right at the door, leaning back against it.

Fusco shot him a dirty look. “What?”

“Carter is fine. She’s interviewing for one of those alphabet agencies, probably didn’t want it getting around.”

“I’m relieved. Hurt, but relieved.” Fusco’s shoulders came down a notch. “She could’ve said.”

“They didn’t let her.” John was sure of that. “She’ll make up her own mind.”

“If she’s smart, she’ll take it.” Fusco threw his paper towel at the overloaded trash can. “Things are getting ugly around here.”

John could hear a trace of fear in Fusco’s voice. “Time for you to take a vacation?”

“Like that’d help.” Fusco put his hands on his hips and glared up at him. “You here to make things worse? Bury another cop you shot with my gun?”

The snarl cleared away the doubt in John’s mind. Finch said, “Be careful what you say, Mr. Reese.”

“I’m here for you, Fusco.” John crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes. There was silence for the longest time, and then Fusco made a strange sound, somewhere between a bark of laughter and a gasp of pain. John met his eyes. “You’re my case.”

“Shit.” Fusco walked straight at him. John didn’t move an inch, and he wouldn’t, not yet. He shrugged, and Fusco pushed him, actually pushed him. “I told you this would happen. Now, get out of the way and let it.”

“Your son’s good with that decision?”

Fusco’s eyes blew wide, and he threw a punch at John’s head. John was surprised enough that his block was weak, and the punch landed. It didn’t budge him, but it was annoying. He frowned. “Lionel.”

Fusco, hands clenched into fists, panted like he’d run a hundred yards. He growled, “Get out of the way.”

“Mr. Reese, may I suggest you avoid a scene,” Finch said.

The door jerked into John’s back, and Fusco took the opportunity to make his escape, leaving John to pretend to be getting a stall and deal with some officer looking very confused. John didn’t rush, even washing his hands, before going to find Fusco.

“I put a tracker on his car, Finch,” John said softly.

“He hasn’t left the premises as yet.”

“Let’s make sure of the son’s whereabouts.”

“Agent Barton has taken on that task.” Finch sounded a little put out with that. “I fear our operation has been compromised, Mr. Reese.”

“Coulson informed me that I work for Shield now, so I’d say that’s accurate.” John didn’t imagine Finch’s huff of anger, but Finch said nothing. Fusco was at his desk, folders open, and to all his purposes, he looked as if he were doing paperwork, but John could see that it was nothing more than a ruse. Fusco was trying to get a hold of his emotions. John strolled out of the building and found a place to watch. He didn’t think HR was bold enough to murder Fusco at his desk.

“I’m looking through Fusco’s open cases to see if this threat comes from outside the department.”

“Maybe Fusco is going to kill an innocent. You didn’t see him. He’s furious.” John didn’t want to believe it, but Fusco had been dirty a long time before they’d met. “It’s possible.”

“He wouldn’t do that to his son.” Finch sounded sure about that. “I’m going to turn on his computer’s camera to keep an eye on him that way.”

“Sounds good.” John relaxed into his corner, watching the shadows and wishing for a cup of coffee. When Fusco’s car pulled out of the garage, John waited until it was a block away before getting inside and tailing him. With the GPS on, there was no reason to stay close, and he assumed Finch could track him through his phone as well.

Fusco must’ve suspected John was tailing him because he started making random turns. “Finch, status on the son?”

“Agent Barton is there.”

Satisfied, John found a place to park and watched the GPS. Ten minutes later, he had his answer as to where Fusco was going, and he whipped out into traffic and put the pedal down hard. Thirty minutes later, he was right on Fusco’s tail.

John clicked his ear bud. “Lionel, pull over. Right now.”

Fusco flipped him off, but after ten minutes, gave up, pulling off near an on ramp. John crowded right up to his bumper and left his lights on bright. He abandoned his ear bud and phone, going to yank Fusco out. Fusco half-fought him, but John wasn’t putting up with any more of his shit. He snatched the phone from Lionel’s hand, took it back to his car, and tossed it in next to his own. Fairly sure that their conversation would now be private, he went back to him and shoved him back against the car.

“Who is in your trunk, Lionel?” John growled, giving him a shake.

Slumping, Fusco leaned back against his squad car and rubbed his face. “I don’t even know! I was told to dump him! Or get a bullet!”

“They plan to kill you anyway!” John’s options were limited. “Or set you up to take the rap.”

“Does it matter? I’m finished.” Fusco sounded defeated, lost, and John didn’t like it, not at all. “We didn’t get all the rats, and now it’s my turn.”

John wasn’t going to accept that. “GPS in your car?”

“Standard issue.”

Cursing to himself, John popped the trunk and went to stare down at HR’s latest victim. Young man, black, definitely dead from lead poisoning, snappy dresser, and after a moment of studying him, it clicked. “I know this man.”

“What?” Fusco moved to stare down at him as well. “I checked. No wallet.”

John went to get his phone and snapped a picture to send to Finch. “Finch, confirm the ID on this young man.”

“I don’t appreciate it when you leave your phone behind.”

“I was protecting you.” John shut the trunk. “We need to get moving. Take my car. Go home.” John nudged him towards his car. “Let me deal with this.”

Fusco took a deep breath. “Fine. Whatever. You owe me one, right?”

“Right.” John went to the back of the squad car, took off his GPS transmitter, and clicked it underneath his own car. Fusco rolled his eyes but drove away soon enough. John got the squad car back on the road to Oyster Bay and called him. “Finch, we’re going to have to get creative.”

“Director Coulson is concerned that they’ll be waiting at your destination.”

“How’s it feel to have a back seat driver?” John refrained from chuckling, but he could hear Finch’s frustration.

“About how you’d expect.” Finch paused. “Your unfortunate passenger is Mitch Delaney, formerly employed by the mayor’s re-election campaign.”

Before Finch could ramble on further, John stopped him. “I know, and I know who the head of HR is, and I think it’s time I eliminate the problem.”

“Mr. Reese.” Finch always managed to put a world of meaning in just John’s name.

John shut the connection and dialed Lionel, who picked up on the first ring. “Lionel, I left an ear wig in the passenger side of that vehicle. Tuck it in your ear and stay in contact.”

“Aw, you do care.”

John clicked off and drove faster. Finch called him right back. “Mr. Reese, Mr. Delaney has a family that will be very concerned about his whereabouts.”

It was long after midnight when John found the road he’d traveled with Lionel early in their relationship, and for some reason, he wasn’t surprised to see a Shield helicopter parked, waiting, lights blazing in the night. It was impossible to miss the wide shoulders of Steve as he got out. Together, they bundled the young man into a body bag and got him on the helicopter.

“They let you fly one of those?” John had to ask.

“I insisted.” Steve was angry. That was clear. “These people need to be stopped.”

Inside the anger, John saw a very dangerous man, not the glitzy Captain America, but a man who’d been to battle and done terrible things in a good cause. “I’ll get it done. It may be messy.”

“You didn’t make the mess. You’re trying to clean it up.” Steve put his hand on John’s shoulder. “You’ll be okay out here?” After a moment, he laughed. “Dumb question, I know.”

“I appreciate the thought.” John double-checked that the trunk was empty, found a pistol that didn’t belong there, and gave it to Steve. “Put it with the body.”

“Good luck!” Steve trotted away, and the helicopter took off into the night.

“Mr. Reese, Fusco has received a phone call. Here is the audio.”

“Fusco.”

“You finally got out there!”

“Had to piss.”

“Get him buried!”

“I hate you.”

And Fusco hung up on them. John leaned against the car and considered his options. In the end, he waited, and at dawn, they came, and Finch said in his ear, “Are you going to kill them?” His voice was hushed, tired.

“Have Fusco report his squad car stolen, would you?” John took a picture of them and watched as they cursed, tromping into the woods, no doubt looking to shoot Fusco. He slashed one of the Fusco’s tires and stole their car, heading back into the city.

His first stop was coffee and donuts, and fortified, he drove to Alonzo Quinn’s house. He parked, sipped his coffee, and waited. It didn’t take long. A black car pulled up, and Quinn came out of the house. John followed, taking pictures of plates and watching.

“Finch, you still there?”

“Mr. Wren is with the doctor,” Coulson said. “And he’s not happy about it either.”

“Glad he’s feeling better.” John took the opportunity to establish some parameters. “So, I’m thinking about putting a bullet in this guy.”

“It’ll be more satisfying to send him to prison, but Clint has dibs on putting an arrow in his knee.”

“It’ll go well with the bullet I’ll put in the other one.” John got out of the car and went inside the restaurant Quinn was having lunch at, snapping a quick picture and settling in at the bar. John sipped a drink and ordered some appetizers to go, trying to get close enough to clone Quinn’s phone. It took a trip to the restroom, but he got it done. He paid for his food and went back to his car. “Coulson, Bear?”

“I’m currently at the library.” Coulson might’ve sounded slightly apologetic. “Your Mr. Wren sent me to get him.”

“He’s a bossy, little guy.” John sipped his coffee, smile on his face. “It’s not too late to run away, far away.”

“My husband would never forgive me.” And John heard Coulson sigh like people will do when they know they’re trapped. “And Mr. Wren told me to inform you that you’ll be receiving your paychecks, whether you like it or not.”

 

“I’m shocked he didn’t tell me himself.” John laughed, unable to stop himself. “Unless he believes you work for him now.”

“Nothing would surprise me.” Coulson paused. “I did hear Hawkeye say sir on the comm yesterday, and it wasn’t to me.”

“Harold will be running your ops within the year.” John could easily believe it. He clicked off and realized he hadn’t asked about Fusco and his son. That meant he trusted Coulson, at some level, to keep them safe. Quinn came out of the restaurant, and they were on the move again. John stayed a bit further back, listening to the chatter on his phone. He perked up when it was Simmons, and they set a time to meet in a place John knew well from his homeless days.

Satisfied, John abandoned the vehicle, told Coulson where to pick it up, and went to change clothes. Simmons knew the Man in the Suit on sight, but no one ever noticed homeless people, and that was a role that John could easily play.

“Cap wants to provide some backup,” Coulson said.

John stared at his phone in confusion. “No. Absolutely not.”

Silence was John’s answer, and he disconnected, having a feeling that his op was getting more complicated. He’d kept his homeless clothes, stuffed in a duffle bag at the library, and he changed into them, glad to find a hat he could pull down. Coulson and Bear weren’t around, and John didn’t wait around. He needed to be there first and find a spot close enough but not too close.

The overpass was mostly deserted, abandoned shopping carts, and trash blowing. John got a cart and filled it full of random stuff, hiding his third gun inside. He checked lines of sight and likely spots, deciding on an approach from several different angles.

Satisfied he’d prepared, he got into character by slugging some whiskey and sprinkling his clothes with it. He rubbed some dirt on his hands and face. “Coulson?”

“We don’t have cameras on you, but I do have eyes.” Coulson sounded smug. “Update on Detective Fusco. He wisely called in sick and is home with his son.”

“Good.” John pushed his cart to the next pillar and squatted down, slightly behind it. He rubbed his hands together, glad the sun was still up. More or less on time, two cars pulled up, and Quinn and Simmons got out, striding away from their cars to talk. Their voices were easy to hear through Quinn’s cloned phone.

“Is it done?”

“We aren’t sure.” Simmons shrugged. “Found Fusco’s car, nobody in it. He’s home sick today.”

“You’ll be eliminating that problem, correct?” Quinn looked about nervously, and John, knowing that he had enough information to put them away, staggered up and started pushing his cart their way.

“He’s dead.” Simmons seemed to notice John and sighed. “You gotta get the mayor to clean up the streets.”

Quinn grimaced. “Kill him after I’m gone. No loose ends, and no meetings for a while. We’re gonna lie low after Fusco is dead.”

“Sure, boss.”

In the distance, sirens could be heard, and John had a feeling their ride was getting closer. He threw off his dirty overcoat, pulled a gun, and snapped off a quick shot that took out Quinn’s tire. Simmons pulled his revolver, and they stared each other down.

“You.”

“Yes. Me.” John ignored Quinn running for his car, shouting at his driver. “This time, I’m cutting off the head.”

Simmons didn’t hesitate. He fired, trying to empty his clip, and John calmly shot him in the knee, taking the bullets to his vest and letting them push him down. It wasn’t his imagination that an arrow came streaking out of nowhere, and Simmons’ scream was a wonderful thing to hear.

“Mr. Reese!” Finch’s voice in John’s ear made him smile. The sirens drew closer, and John didn’t question it when a motorcycle parked near his head.

“You good?”

John coughed, and Steve hauled him up. They made sure of all the guns, leaving Simmons on the concrete, and pulled away just as a fleet of black SUVs came into sight. Simmons screamed and cursed at them, but John just grinned, feeling way too good.

“You’re crazy!” Steve shouted back at him.

“Mr. Reese, I’m considering firing you again.”

John laughed some more, glad when they pulled into the parking garage at Avengers’ tower. “Thanks, Steve.”

Steve caught him as he dropped off the bike. “Get medical down here, Jarvis.”

"I didn't notice." John did now. It hurt, not much, but some.

“Mr. Reese!”

John heard that and then nothing else.

********

“No.” John sat up and started pulling connections off his body. He wasn’t really thinking, but if he was hurt, it was time to get moving, take care of it himself, and find a spot to lick his wounds for a few days. Alarms beeped, and he wasn’t expecting Harold and his wheelchair to come right up to the bed.

“Lie back down.”

“No.”

“Does your left arm work?”

Blinking, John turned his head to look at it. He only now noticed the bandages and an air cast. “Not so much.”

“So, stop. You’re staying in that bed until they decide on whether to operate or amputate.”

“Hey, good job on not needing the forehead strap.” John noticed it was gone. “Got your neck back, huh?”

“Yes.

Jarvis, tell the nurses it’s safe to come inside.”

“Wait.” John tilted his head and replayed the conversation. “Amputate?”

“It does happen as the result of bullet wounds.” Harold glared at him. “Do you want to retain both arms? Stay in the bed!”

“Okay, now you’re just being bossy. I don’t even work for you.” But John eased back, raising the bed so he could sit upright. He also adjusted the blankets with the arm that was cooperating. “I got shot in the arm. No big deal.”

“Guy had a terrible spread,” Hawkeye said, barreling through the door with Bear at his side. They somehow managed to miss Harold in the wheelchair and pile on the bed in tandem. “Disgrace to the Force.”

“Not wrong.” John rubbed Bear’s ears. “Thanks for shooting him.”

“My pleasure.”

Harold rolled his eyes. John shrugged. “Harold doesn’t approve of guns.”

“If anyone’s gonna have them, it should be us.” Hawkeye furrowed his brow. “Bruce doesn’t like them either. Don’t ever point a gun at the big guy.”

John would remember that advice, just in case. Hawkeye poured him a cup of water and handed it to him. “Hungry?”

“He can’t eat until after they decide about the surgery,” Harold said.

“It’s a scratch,” John said, hoping he hadn’t signed a consent form when he was unconscious. Once was enough for that.

“I’d prefer the opinion of a member of the medical staff.” Harold kept John in the bed with his glare. “Jarvis?”

“They will be in presently.”

Bear licked John’s face, and Hawkeye laughed, and they started wrestling mostly on John’s lap. John sighed. “How did all this happen?”

“You made an idiot decision.”

“That kept you alive,” John said.

“Okay, let’s go!” Hawkeye dashed out the door with Bear in hot pursuit. “I hate it when grown ass men argue about stupid shit.” And he was gone.

John got another sip of water but kept his eyes on Harold. “I’m not sorry.”

“You said you were.”

That was true. John shrugged. “I’m sorry my decision upset you. I’m not sorry for the decision.”

“Clarification is always welcome.” Harold sighed, sounding frustrated. “The scarring I had is gone. I feel…” He paused. “Like a caterpillar.”

“Let’s hope you turn into a beautiful butterfly.” John flashed him a grin.

“I liked who I was.” Harold’s voice was soft. “Even though it was often hurtful.” He didn’t meet John’s eyes. “I suppose it’s time for a new alias.”

Guilt washed through John, but he still wasn’t sorry. He flashed back to the sight of Harold on the floor, neck broken, and shuddered. He’d found a solution, even if it had turned out to be slightly crazy. Into the silence came a doctor, trailed by a couple of nurses, and Harold asked Jarvis to return him to his room. Alone, John narrowed his eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Dr. Scherr. I’ll be doing the surgery on your arm.” He made to grab for John’s arm, and John blocked him without thinking. The nurses froze, and John slid off the bed, away from the strange doctor. The doctor glared. “Okay, settle down. The bullet impacted the joint of the elbow. We need to get in there and clean it up a bit.”

“No.” John eased towards the door, noticed the nurses were staying a healthy distance away from him.

“We have a code red,” the doctor said.

“Mr. Reese, please allow the doctor to examine your arm,” Jarvis said.

For some reason, John didn’t like the guy, and he always trusted his instincts. “Not him.” He back further away, watching for needles, but none of them twitched. When he made the hallway, he breathed a sigh of relief, and made for the elevator.

“Mr. Reese, please believe me when I say there is no need for alarm.”

John shook his head. “Something wrong about that guy.”

The elevator doors opened, and Dr. Banner stepped out, followed by Coulson. John kept his hands where they could see them. Coulson rolled his eyes. “What is it with assassins?” He put his hands on his hips. “Clint hates that guy, too.”

“Maybe you should figure out why instead of thinking it’s our problem.” John spat the words at him. “Hello, Dr. Banner.”

“Bruce. Please.” Banner shrugged. “I’ll look at your arm. Ok?”

Still not sure, John hesitated. Coulson sighed. “We’ll do it in the suite you share with Mr. Wren.”

“Fine.” John made them lead the way, and he felt like an idiot when Harold started squawking about infection and poor life choices, but some things weren’t negotiable.

Banner smiled. “Bathroom, okay? You need a shower anyway.”

John nodded, but he left the door open so either of them could bolt out if needed. Harold was bitching at Coulson, and that made John smile for a moment. Banner helped him out of the shirt, and John winced once or twice.

“Doesn’t hurt?”

“Not too bad. Had worse.” John would remove his pants later. These clothes needed to be trashed anyway, and he tossed the shirt in the garbage. Banner removed the air cast, unwound the bandages, and took a hard look. John did the same, using the mirror.

“No exit wound,” John grumbled.

Banner tilted his head this way and that. “Sorry about this.” He got very close and sniffed deeply. “I know it’s weird, but the other guy has a great sense of smell. He can smell infection.”

“It is weird.” John held very still. The wound wasn’t near as bad as the time he’d been shot in the guts.

“I think the bullet tore in and then bounced out here.” Banner pointed at the jagged end of the hole. He put out his hand. “May I?”

“Yes.” John made sure he was braced as Banner manipulated John’s arm but he didn’t come close to the wound itself. It started to sluggishly bleed, and Banner ignored it. John hoped there was a first aid kit under the sink. “I think it’ll be fine.”

“This.” Banner took off his glasses, set them on the counter, and squinted at John’s arm. “Isn’t possible.”

Now, John was worried. He shuffled slightly away, wishing for the tattered shirt back.

“Coulson!”

John frowned. “I don’t need an audience.”

Banner straightened up, put his glasses back on, and made a strange hand motion as Coulson peeked around the corner. “He has enhanced healing.”

“Not possible. He’s human.” Coulson stepped in the bathroom. “He’s bleeding.”

“He should be writhing on the floor in pain, blood gushing, and needing surgery to repair an artery.” Banner sounded certain. “John, take your shower and dress, but leave the shirt off. I’ll bandage it when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” John said slowly, pretty sure the good doctor was nuts. He shut the door firmly after they left, locking it. It was his turn to hate being under the microscope. He took his time, babying his arm. Truth be told, he was a little embarrassed he’d passed out at Captain America’s feet, but he’d say it was adrenaline, not the bullet wound. Feeling better, he pulled on some sweats one-handed and stepped out into the main room.

“Oh, good,” Banner said, motioning him over to where a large first aid kit was sprawled open on the kitchen table. “Let me see.”

John strolled over, trying to act casual, not liking the looks he was getting from both Harold and Coulson. Bear was in his bed so Hawkeye had shown up at some point.

“Clint went to get food,” Coulson said. “He promised no pizza.”

“I like pizza,” John said as Banner moved around him, gloves on now, but not touching him, just looking at his arm. No one agreed with him, and he glanced at Harold. Harold met John’s gaze, no expression whatsoever on his face, and that meant something.

“Harold, you know everything about me,” John said, letting a trace of sarcasm shine. “So, why don’t you explain to them what you know.”

“Mr. Reese is correct.” Harold rolled closer to the group. “I know that he has received a number of both shots and blood transfusions over the years, most of which were legitimate. However, there were a number that were only labeled with numbers and I was unable to ascertain what they contained.”

Coulson nodded. “Get him patched up. John, if you’re willing, please allow Dr. Banner to take a blood and DNA sample, which will remain in house here.” He strode out the door without a look back.

John walked away from Banner and crouched down near Harold’s wheelchair. “Harold?”

“Knowledge is power,” Harold said softly. “Your choice.”

Shrugging, John went back to the first aid kit. “Let’s do this, Banner.” 

Hawkeye showed up with Chinese food about the time that Banner finished, and John’s stomach growled its approval. Harold looked slightly pained, and John was going to suggest they eat somewhere else when Jarvis said, “Mr. Wren, it is time for your massage.”

“If we must.” Harold met John’s gaze. “Get some rest. If there’s a number, I’ll wake you.”

“Good enough.” John didn’t watch him wheel out the door, not much.

Hawkeye and Banner cleaned off the kitchen table in record time, and John sat down to eat, letting them wait on him because his arm ached. “Steve?” he asked.

“He had some business,” Hawkeye said.

Banner’s eyebrows went up. John had read that Steve was the leader of the Avengers, but it hadn’t said that he was also a loose cannon. “Does Steve often go off and do…”

“Crazy stuff?” Clint asked.

“Insane things?” Bruce said at the same time.

John nodded and shoveled his mouth full of rice and chicken. Hawkeye laughed, and Bruce joined in, and Stark strolled in the door without knocking. He grabbed a box of Chinese and went at it like a wild animal.

“What you see here is an example of the reclusive mad scientist, free from his lab, foraging for food,” Clint said, grinning.

“Steve is making Coulson breathe hard again,” Stark mumbled into his carton.

Clint groaned. “It’s not Coulson’s fault that the CIA got hold of some super soldier blood.”

Stark raised his head from his beef lo mein. “It is if Shield is the one who lost some of it.” He shrugged. “Steve’s sensitive about it. They took quite a bit of his blood when he was in the Army. Did all kinds of crazy shit with it.”

Swallowing, John had a question. “So…?”

“Unless you’re his grandson.” Stark pointed at John with his fork. “Are you? Not possible, so, moving along. The CIA stole Cap’s blood and juiced up their agents with it.”

“I’m adopted.” John was reluctant to say anything else. He knew things, but they were personal. He shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Using Harold’s resources, I tracked down my mother and her family.” He had to take a deep breath. “My great grandmother traveled Europe with the USO during World War II. There were pictures.” He had to shut up now.

Forks and chopsticks stopped in mid-air, and three out of three jaws dropped. Stark recovered the fastest. “Jarvis, am I drunk?”

“Not currently, sir.”

“Wait.” Clint put up his hand. “What?”

“Cap’s not a virgin. Holy shit.” Stark surged up and ran from the room, fork still clutched in his hand. Going back to eating seemed the best answer for that in John’s mind.

Banner eased to his feet and picked up the first aid kit with the DNA sample, clutching it to his chest. “I’ll see you later. Rest and drink plenty of fluids.”

Hawkeye looked at John. “I feel like I should make a weird face and run out the door.”

“Or, you could stay and keep an eye on me, so I don’t pass out or anything.”

“Excellent idea.” Clint scrapped the contents of Banner’s plate onto his own. “You do look a little pale.”

John snorted. “It’s the cheekbones.” He ate until his stomach groaned at him to stop. Using just the one hand, he started cleaning up, not arguing when Hawkeye started helping.

“Mr. Reese, it is time to feed Bear,” Jarvis said.

Bear got up, stretched, and came over to heartily endorse that idea. John had noticed the high-end kibble in the bottom cabinet earlier, and he poured out Bear’s usual measure into the bowl. “Good boy.”

“Dog knows how to eat.”

“He’s enthusiastic about his meals.” John left the dog in peace and went to sprawl in his chair, arranging his arm so it didn’t ache. “You don’t really have to stay.”

“I know.” Hawkeye dropped onto the sofa. John shut his eyes, but he was pretty sure he heard Hawkeye snore first.

********

“Mr. Reese, there is a number, and Mr. Rogers is being extremely difficult about it,” Harold said.

“That’s more or less his job, Harold.” John was instantly awake. He took a careful stretch, taking a measure of his mobility for the day. “I’m surprised how much my leg hurts, given that I was shot in the arm.”

Harold was silent a moment. “That makes no sense.”

“I guess that’s why I’m surprised.” John surged to his feet and took another stretch, deciding he was fine. “The thing I don’t like about this tower is that I’ve lost all track of time. Is it even daytime?”

“It’s three o’clock in the afternoon.” Harold sighed. “They do move to a unique schedule. No one seems to sleep at all, much less regular hours.”

“And I thought we were weird.” John went to the bathroom to get ready for the day. When he emerged, Harold was in his bed again, and John had an irrational anger that he hadn’t done it for him. Coulson was on the sofa, tablet in hand, legs crossed, and he’d no doubt helped Harold. John wanted to smack that tablet into the wall. Instead, he took a deep breath. “How’s it going, Harold? Can you feel your toes yet?”

“At the rate I’m progressing, I fear I will be bound to this bed or wheelchair for at least another two weeks.” Harold looked away. “I hate this.” His voice was soft but firm.

"Once your arms start working, you'll be happier." John didn't push the idea that they could leave because if something did go wrong, he wanted to be here at the Tower, not holed up in whatever safe house Harold insisted he stay at in the city. “Jarvis, can we move off the medical floor? Somewhere more comfortable?”

“And where I’m not located near the kitchen.”

“I will consult with Dr. Cho,” Jarvis said.

John glanced at Coulson, who had yet to say a word. “The number?” He went to the fridge to grab a bottle of water and cracked it open. “Steve?”

“Director Coulson?”

Coulson placed the darkened tablet in his lap. “We need to talk, privately.”

Telling him to forget it was on the tip of John’s tongue when he caught the look Harold gave him. Harold wanted him to go have that conversation. John sighed. “Fine. Let me find some shoes.” He padded to his closet and put on his customary suit, dressing for work. He felt better when he had it on, striding out to meet Coulson by the door.

“Mr. Reese, we will be relocating you and Mr. Wren,” Jarvis said. “Any requests from your next set of rooms?”

“Guns would be nice.” John followed Coulson to the elevator, and they went down five floors before exiting and ending up in an office that looked well-used. There were even paper files sitting on a side-table. John wasn’t sure whether to stand or sit, and he didn’t much like feeling like he had in his CIA days. Coulson plunked down in his chair, yanked open the middle drawer, and dug out some Tylenol. He popped them with what had to be cold coffee, and John knew an attempt to put him at ease when he saw one. He took the chair nearest the door, edged it closer to the desk, and sat, wishing for his gun.

“How’s the arm?”

“Better.” John didn’t flex it to prove the point. “It concerns me that we have a number, and I’m sitting on my ass instead of working.”

“Clint and Fusco are working on it.” Coulson must’ve seen John’s eyebrows go up. “They can handle it.”

“I’m just imagining the trouble those two could cause.”

“Trust me, I already imagined it and took precautions.” Coulson nudged his keyboard, and the screen lit up. “Dr. Banner rushed on the DNA. You are Cap’s great-grandson.”

“No gentle way to put that.” John felt like he needed to take a deep breath. “I wonder if the CIA knew.”

“No way they could’ve, but they did try to boost your body’s natural… enhancements with injections that Shield recognizes from some experiments that Hydra ran in the 90s.” Coulson scowled. “There’s no way to know if they succeeded, or what exactly they did to your body.”

Coulson shrugged. “I’m going to be honest.”

John fought back a smirk, taking the glare Coulson shot him.

“Cap is a little freaked out.” Coulson narrowed his eyes. “We’re all protective of him. He’s still so young.”

“He’s been to war. Hell, he won that war. His soul is old.” John wanted to get to his feet and pace. “Are we done? I should really check in with Fusco.”

“I got him.” Coulson tapped his ear.

“Jarvis, have my murder bot meet me at the elevator.” John wasn’t able to sit any longer while other people were out doing his job. “Status on Carter?” He asked, hand on the doorknob.

“She’s taking a couple of days to make up her mind.” Coulson scowled at that. “I have agents on her and her son.”

Nodding, John left him in his office, going to get his guns. Bear would be fine with Harold. John’s sigh of relief surprised him when he cleared the Tower without bumping into Steve. Grandpa. Captain America. He hailed a cab, and perhaps he wasn’t taking his usual care to be stealthy, but he wasn’t going to the Library.

********

They were there, like always, gathered around burning trash cans, huddled in corners, one or two drunk on their ass, and he handed out all his money first. Then he found a trash can to warm his hands by. He gave his coat to a young man who needed it, and he accepted a swig of whiskey in return. Life was simple off the grid. No surveillance cameras, no cell phones, and no life complications like finding out he’s enhanced and he might possibly like Harold a little too much.

It only took getting fired to help him figure that out.

Harold had Grace, and Harold would never trust John again, not after this mess. John wasn’t going to fool himself. He’d done that for far too many years in the CIA.

“Obviously, you’re not okay,” Steve said, just appearing at John’s side, hands stretched for the fire. John sighed loudly, but he should’ve expected one of them to track him down. He must be getting rusty. Steve didn’t say anything else, just waiting. His silence wasn’t condemning though, and he didn’t even shoot John little looks like he was impatient.

John found himself another drink of whiskey before trying to answer. “My family is dead.” He glanced over, searching for something intangible. “At least I thought they were. Just me. For years.”

“After Ma died, all I had was Bucky.” Steve didn’t look at him. “I was lucky there.”

“I had the Army, then Jessica, and then no one.” John pushed the words out against his better judgement. He wasn’t a whiner, never had been. “It was easier not to worry about dying that way.”

Steve nodded sharply. “And now I got you?” He whispered the question into the fire, and John almost missed it. Brushing his hair back, now Steve looked at John. “I guess?”

“I guess.” John was a good twenty years older than his great-grandfather. “We probably shouldn’t tell people.”

A small laugh before Steve said, “Tony’s already told the world I’m afraid.”

“Just that you aren’t a virgin.” And John gave him a half-smile. “You dog.”

“No excuse for it.” But Steve’s eyes twinkled even in the firelight. John snorted and looked about, counting heads. “How many rooms are in that palace?”

Steve’s eyes went wide, and then he grinned. “More than enough.”

“We could steal a bus?” John wasn’t keen on trying to get all of them to walk the distance.

“Or we could rent one.” Steve looked disapproving. “Clint told me about party buses.”

John motioned at Steve’s pocket. “You call, and I’ll pay.”

“I’ll pay you back half.” Steve dug out a Starkphone, made the call, and it wasn’t long before everyone was piling on board. John wanted to drive, but he controlled himself, taking the spot by the door. Steve was somewhere in the crowd, and John wished he could see Stark’s face when the party bus pulled up outside Avenger’s Tower.

Steve was the last one out of the bus, but he got the door to the Tower, and John hesitated. Security was starting to come at them, and they looked confused as well. It was after business hours but there were still enough people around to stare and point.

Jarvis intoned, “Mr. Reese, and Captain Rogers, I’m unsure of what is occurring.”

“These people need rooms. They’re homeless,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips and going full Captain America. It didn’t matter that he was in old jeans and a vintage Dodgers baseball cap. “Four of them are veterans like us. They need help.”

There was a long pause. “Use the elevator to your left. Third floor up to Tenth is for guests. I will alert staff to assist you.”

“Thanks, Jarvis. You’re a swell guy.”

John smiled. “I do like Jarvis.” He helped shepherd a couple of the guys who weren’t staggering the right direction. It took a couple of hours to get everyone settled, but Banner showed up to help, and there were actual staff members pitching in, and finally John was able to head back outside, almost wishing the party bus was still there to take him away.

“John! Are you leaving?” Steve hurried after him.

“I should go. This.” He gestured at the Tower. “Is for heroes, or rich guys, and I’m neither.” He could see from Steve’s face that he shouldn’t have said that. “I also want to check on my apartment. Pick up the mail. Make sure the oven isn’t on.”

Steve took a long moment. Finally, he shrugged. “I get it. Go. I’ll keep an eye on Mr. Wren.”

“I’d appreciate it.” John turned away and headed for the subway. He needed to disappear. Figure a few things out, like how the hell he was going to slink back into the shadows with Captain America as a liability, and Harold. It always came back to Harold.

John’s apartment had a thin layer of dust, and he flipped through his mail at the sink, sipping on a beer he’d pulled from the fridge. There wasn’t any actual food in there, but he wasn’t hungry. He found his laptop and paid a few bills. That done, he checked on all his weapons and his ammo, normal household tasks, just trying to ignore the problems ahead.

When he got back from the all-night dry cleaner, he stared at his bed for a good minute, actually considering sleep. His arm ached, bruises hurt, and he had a headache. If he were at the Tower, he’d ask Jarvis for Tylenol and get a massage, but he stomped on those thoughts. He wasn’t a pampered super hero. He was an ex-CIA assassin in hiding.

Rubbing his forehead, John went to shower. When he was out and dry, he stopped arguing with himself and went to bed. He stared at the ceiling a long time.

********

“Don’t shoot!”

John had his gun up and pointed before he understood that it was Hawkeye busting through the door with Bear hot on his heels. Before he could lower his gun, they both jumped on the bed.

“Sig Sauer? Really?” Hawkeye sprawled like a starfish.

“It doesn’t poke through the pillow.” John shoved the gun away and rubbed his eyes. He lay back flat and let Bear sprawl on him. “Missed you too.”

Bear woofed and slobbered. Hawkeye tucked his hands behind his head. “You don’t have a phone, and a certain someone was going batshit.”

Glancing up at where John was certain there was a surveillance camera, he rolled his eyes. Hawkeye followed that look and started laughing. “You two should just give up and get married.”

In an act that he would regret later, John pulled his gun and shot the camera. He tucked the gun back away again and narrowed his eyes at Hawkeye.

“Well, I got the message.” Hawkeye launched himself off the bed. “I need food. Get dressed. There’s a diner that I love nearby.”

Groaning, John started shoving at dog parts that wiggled and refused to cooperate. He tore off the bandage, staggered to the bathroom, and got ready for the day. He adamantly refused to process what Hawkeye had said. Harold was controlling. That was all, and while John would’ve sworn they were friends before this happened. Now, John was sure of nothing. He didn’t shave, just putting on some jeans and a shirt. He added a pullover before padding out to find Hawkeye was standing on the windowsill.

“Nice view.”

“I like it.” John put on some shoes and found Bear’s leash. He wanted to know about the number but it could wait until he had coffee in front of him, and he managed to only growl a couple of times before they got there. Bear was a regular, and he slipped under the table at their usual booth - the booth where he and Harold often had breakfast. “Why are you here? I don’t want friends,” he snarled.

Mary Ann poured him a cup of coffee and tossed Bear a dog treat. “Don’t listen to him. He’s always grouchy before breakfast,” she said to Hawkeye. “Coffee?”

“You can leave the pot.” Hawkeye smiled, clearly not joking. She rolled her eyes and poured him a cup as well. “What? I mean it!”

“He’s cute, not bright, but cute.” Mary Ann went to fill someone else’s cup.

Hawkeye’s phone chirped, and he got it. “Clint’s Taco Bar.”

“Did Cap Junior have to shoot out the camera? Harold is about ready to commandeer the armor to check on him.” Stark’s voice was loud enough for both of them to hear.

“My big mouth stepped in it.” Hawkeye drank some coffee. John sighed and focused on his coffee. Mary Ann would be back with two specials soon, and maybe he’d get some answers about the number.

“Also? Cap says he told you to leave him alone, and Natasha is home.”

“Shit.” Hawkeye scrubbed at his hair. “Bear insisted we visit.”

“You’re an idiot.” Stark hung up, and Hawkeye slumped over his coffee.

“Tell me about the number.” John could see the bottom of his cup, and Mary Ann filled it on her way by, which he appreciated. “Clint. Focus.”

Hawkeye nodded. “Fusco and I ran a simple operation. The husband was abusing his wife, and we put a stop to it.”

Anger made John lean forward a little. “You killed him, I hope.”

“Anyway, she’s okay. It’ll be good.” Hawkeye seemed sure of it. “Cap wanted to bring you in on it. Wren said no, and we handled it.”

The conversation about Steve making the number difficult made a lot more sense now, and anger simmered in John’s gut. Harold would never trust him on those cases.

Mary Ann delivered their food with a smile, and Hawkeye dug into the food while John wanted to punch someone, maybe Harold. Hawkeye pointed with his fork. “Eat. I’m in enough trouble.”

John glared but started eating. His arm didn’t slow him down, and he’d admit he felt better after half the plate was in his stomach. “Who’s Natasha?”

“The Black Widow. My best friend.” Clint sighed. “She’s particular about other people’s privacy, but seriously, can you throw Harold a bone? He actually frets when you’re off the grid.”

“He fired me, and he’s perfectly capable of accomplishing most anything.” John stared down at his plate, trying to decide if he could eat another bite. Some part of him knew he was acting like an idiot, but how could he know what was real when it came to Harold now. “I worked for him, Hawkeye.”

“He’s your friend,” Hawkeye said, low and even, like he was talking someone off a ledge. “Trust me on that.”

Making a grumbly noise was no answer, but it was all John had. “Steve still freaking out?” he asked softly.

“If you mean, is he walking around in a daze, mumbling about responsibility? Then, yes.” Hawkeye chugged all his coffee in one mouthful and threw a hopeful glance at Mary Ann, who strolled over to refill it. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem, sweetie.” She smiled at John. “Does Mr. Finch know you’re stepping out on him?”

“He’s been sick.” John wiped his mouth with a napkin. “But don’t worry, he’s on the mend and looking forward to the eggs benedict.”

“Oh good. You had me worried!” She refilled John’s cup as well before working her way to other booths and thirsty patrons.

“She knows you guys are dating?” Hawkeye leaned forward and grinned.

Sighing, John considered stabbing him with a fork. “I have to go back to the Tower.”

“You really do.” Hawkeye sprawled back in the booth with a grin. John nudged his plate away and slipped Bear a piece of bacon. He had some errands to run first. Hawkeye never lost his grin. “Go on. I’ll get the check.”

“Thanks for breakfast, Hawkeye.” John and Bear made for the door together, both grateful to stretch their legs. As they went out, Coulson was coming inside, and John didn’t even glance at him, not in public.

“Clint! You were supposed to wait for me!” Coulson fussed at his husband.

“The bacon here is all the excuse I need.” And Hawkeye laughed. John shut the door, careful of Bear’s tail and left them to it. He’d have bet that Hawkeye was perfectly capable of eating another breakfast.

Fusco was fine, not great, but fine. He’d taken a two-day rip for letting his car be stolen, and everyone had laughed about it, but no one considered him involved in the scandal that had swept another group of officers out the door, some headed for prison. Simmons was in the hospital, and they’d amputated below the knee on one leg. John thought it was a mild punishment, considering how many people Simmons had put in the ground. Quinn was still in federal custody. No one had seen or heard from him. John wondered if Steve had something to do with that, but he’d never ask.

“Carter’s taking the job,” Fusco said, letting John pay for the coffee. “Word is she’s working right here in Manhattan.”

John nodded. “She’d want her son to stay in school.” He dropped his voice. “You gonna make it?”

“I’m touched you’d ask.” Fusco laughed and headed back in the precinct. John watched him go and made up his mind to find a way to do something nice for him. Something that could never be traced back to John or Harold. Ever. Sipping his coffee, he caught a cab to within walking distance of the library. Bear loved riding in taxis, but he also seemed glad to see his bed, flopping down and sprawling. John took his coffee to the computers and sat down with more dignity than his dog. Opening the side drawer, he took out a new phone and ear wig. He turned it on, tucking the ear wig in tight.

The truth was: he wasn’t going anywhere. When the numbers came in, he’d go to work. And as for Harold? John would keep bringing him tea and wishing they were… something.

The other thing with Steve would work its way out. John found it very hard to believe that Captain America would want any type of familial relationship with an ex-CIA assassin.

The healing enhancement thing John was going to ignore. Also, he was going to ignore Shield. Harold could deal with them.

Tapping the ear wig, John schooled his voice to indifference. “I’m in the Library, Harold. Is there a number yet?”

There was a much longer than usual pause. John did nothing but wait, drinking his coffee and watching the dog sleep.

“No, Mr. Reese, there’s no number.” Harold sounded the same, maybe. “If there is, Director Coulson will be taking the lead as I find I am having difficulty processing information today.”

John got to his feet. “What exactly does that mean, Harold?”

“The pain has moved to another level of intensity.” Now Harold sounded different, like he was trying too hard to sound normal. “And I fear I have begun withdrawal symptoms from the opioids. I recommend you remain at either the Library or your apartment as I am not myself.”

“I’m heading out to speak with Carter, and then I’ll be over.” John clicked off and stared down at Bear, who was sound asleep. Shrugging, John left him there, locking the Library up tight and taking a cab. Curious, he had the cabbie let him off about three blocks away.

The Shield vehicle out front of Carter’s place was dead easy to spot, but the guys inside looked alert. Coulson was one of those guys who always had a backup plan, so John waited, watching. It took a few minutes but John spotted him. In the shadow by the door, and if he hadn’t made the mistake of lighting a cigarette, John might’ve missed him altogether.

It’d been awhile, but John liked to think he hadn’t lost a step when it came to sneaking around houses. He took his time, and then he took the guy out, zip-tying him to a convenient tree. Satisfied, John went back around the block and strolled up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and took one look over his shoulder.

They were taking his picture. Smart. John approved. He tapped his ear. “Coulson?”

“How can I help, Mr. Reese?”

“Tell your watchdogs I’m at Carter’s, and you can pick up the guy who was smoking by the tree.” He tapped off, and she opened the door. They looked at each other. She shrugged, and he shut the door behind them, throwing the locks. “Son home?”

“Yeah.” She padded down the hallway, and he followed, surprised when she led him to the bedroom. On the bed was a pile of newspapers articles, and he peeked in the closet when she stepped inside. She took down a picture and handed it to him. “Make yourself useful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He added it to the pile with a long reach. “You would’ve caught Quinn eventually.”

“You got there first.” She shot him a glare and then laughed. “It’s okay. I caught that guy in the suit I was looking for.”

It was then he noticed that he had also made her wall of fame. “I bet Harold was a surprise, huh?”

“I was shocked.” She nodded. “And for the record, I wanted you in prison, not shot.”

“You keep saying that.” He grinned at her, taking another newspaper article. “Made up your mind to take the job, huh?”

“Yes, even though I suspect your hand at work in this deal somewhere.” She tapped the wall. “I suppose taking it all down is silly.”

“Start with a clean slate.” John leaned against the doorjamb. “I had nothing to do with this job. Trust me.” It was true, mostly. He wanted to tell her so many things, but, as usual, they all stuck in his throat. “Fusco misses you.”

“He told me you saved his ass. Again.” She sighed and put two more in his hand. “Thank you. You gonna keep an eye on him for me?”

“Will do. You gonna keep my number in case something good comes up? Like aliens?” He smirked, knowing it’d irritate her.

“Will do.” And she rolled her eyes. “They said I’ll meet Captain America. Like that’ll happen!”

John managed not to smile. “Never know. I’ve heard that guy never sleeps.”

“Did Hawkeye tell you that? Fusco was gonna throw him right in jail after the riot at the Pig Stop.” Carter flicked an eyebrow at him. “I figured you were in on that!”

“Only a little, and I guess even super heroes need a night out every now and again.” John turned to put his pile on the growing pile. “I’m glad for you, Joss.”

“You know what? Me, too.” She smiled, and it was so pure, so honest that it made John’s heart ache. She was stellar, and Hawkeye was right. She’d do great at Shield. “John, is Harold getting well?”

“He is, and I’ll tell him you asked after him.” John would. He ducked his head and turned away a little so he didn’t say something dumb. Of course, he loved her. Who wouldn’t?

“Thanks.” She yanked him around and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Now, get out of here. I got work to do to get ready for work tomorrow.”

He smiled, unable to help himself. “You’ll do great.” And somehow, he made himself walk out, shutting the outside door firmly. He would see her again, just not soon, and she was much better off without him getting her in trouble. He didn’t even glance at the Shield agents as he left, and someday, maybe he’d thank Coulson for this but not today.

Bear was more than ready to get moving when John got back to the Library, and they headed for the Tower. Walking the entire way was ridiculous, but it was a nice day, not too cold, and it gave John time to not think. People flowed around him, sounds of the city familiar and soothing, and he contained a smile when he passed a hot dog cart about a block off the Tower. Thinking twice about it, he doubled back and clicked his ear bud.

“Jarvis, would Steve like to join me for a hot dog down on the corner?” John didn’t know for sure that Jarvis was monitoring this phone, but he’d put money on it. He waited, finding a spot out of the way of foot traffic.

“Perhaps you can hear Captain Rogers running down the length of Avenger’s Tower, Mr. Reese?”

“Jarvis, you’re a smartass.” John liked him. “Is Harold okay?”

“While he is in distress, his vitals are within tolerances.”

For some reason, Jarvis’ machine-like answer was reassuring. Steve was easy to spot, striding like a man with a purpose, blond hair shining in the sun, and John squinted, looking for something, anything, and when it clicked, his breath whooshed out of him.

Steve’s smile was tentative, but Bear wagged his tail hard, and John found a tiny smile, nothing but a lifted lip. “You walk like me. I see it now.”

“John, _you_ walk like _me_.” Steve clapped him on the shoulder, and the world re-settled. “Hot dogs for everyone!”

Now John managed a real smile. He handed out hot dogs to strangers while Steve alternated between eating and signing autographs. John did manage to eat two, Bear got one of his own, and John wasn’t surprised at all when Hawkeye showed up to claim one. When the cart was empty, Steve thanked everyone – seriously, the guy was too polite – and they made their way back to the Tower. John let Hawkeye take Bear, and they ran on ahead.

“Good dog,” Steve said. “He has more manners than Clint.”

“He wasn’t raised in a circus.” John opened the door for Steve. “How are our guests? I guess I wasn’t much help there.”

“It was your idea. I just… ran with it. Tony and I agreed that someone needs to help and there was no reason it can’t be us, so the Maria Stark Foundation is going to open housing for the homeless in buildings Tony already owns.”

“Like shelters?” John would help, somehow, in between the numbers.

“No. More like small apartments.” Steve nodded at the surprise on John’s face. “I know. It’ll take an army of people to help.”

John wondered what Harold would think of all this. “Harold owns a lot of real estate as well.”

“Really?” Steve’s voice carried not a hint of sarcasm. It was possible he really didn’t know. “Well, Pepper wasn’t happy, and there was polite yelling, and Tony pointed his finger at me. Which I didn’t appreciate, but he hadn’t slept in two days. So, then we went to work on the problem.”

It was time to stop him. “Steve, does Tony ever grab his hair and pull?”

“One time he rolled around on the floor, too.” Steve grinned. “Did you know there are over sixty thousand homeless people in New York? Just New York!”

“I didn’t.” John was fairly sure even Harold didn’t have enough real estate for that many people. “Jarvis, take me to wherever the doctor stashed Harold,” he said as they got on the elevator.

“Mr. Wren is back on the med floor,” Jarvis said. “He is supremely unhappy about it.”

“That’s actually a bit of an understatement.” Steve nodded. “In fact, I’m letting you go in alone.”

The doors snapped open, and John sighed. “Thanks, Gramps, for having my back.”

“I’d rather face Hydra.” Steve waved and shut the elevator doors. John laughed, spotted the murder bot and reluctantly left his weapons in it, except for the knife.

“Mr. Reese,” Jarvis said.

“Fine.” John left his knife, but he favored Jarvis with an eyeroll. He stepped into Harold’s room and there were two nurses, but neither left. It was bad then, and John went to Harold’s side. “Harold.”

“Is there a number?” Harold’s eyes were wild, sweat on his forehead. “John? Are you here? Finally?”

John took him by the hand and put his other on Finch’s chest. “Settle down. Breathe through the pain. You know how.”

“Too much. Too much.” Harold gripped John’s hand hard enough to make other men wince. “John? Where the hell have you been?” The last words were yelled. “I can’t trust any of these people!”

“In. Count to three. Out.” John worked with him until his breath finally evened out. Taking his hand off Harold’s chest, he stroked it through Harold’s crazy hair. “Breathe. Settle. Pain is your best friend, remember?”

“You’re my best friend,” Harold said. “I’ve acted horribly. I apologize.”

The apology took him by surprise, and in a flash, he threw away all his doubts that this… friendship wasn’t real. He trusted Harold enough to know that was the truth. John leaned a little closer. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Harold shook his head side to side. “They won’t even let me have a joint,” he whispered. “I’m ashamed that I asked!”

Dr. Cho picked that moment to stride in the room. She didn't shoo John away though. She ran an instrument the length of Harold’s body and stared down at it for a moment.

“Do I need a new physician?” Harold sounded sincere, not snarly.

“Mr. Wren, it’s going to get worse.” She didn’t sugarcoat it. “But your body is healed. In time, you’ll be one hundred percent.”

“Thanks, Doc.” John slid so her view of Harold was blocked. “Can he have anything for the withdrawal process?”

“Nothing will work. The virus would attack it, break it down before it could take effect.” Dr. Cho met his eyes firmly. “Trust me, Tony tried everything, even a big bag of weed, as he put it. Nothing gave him any relief. In a year or two when the virus self-terminates, Mr. Wren can take other meds.”

“Wait.” John blinked in surprise. “Two years?”

“In Mr. Wren’s case, it’ll probably be longer. His body was extremely receptive.” Cho made a motion to the nurses. “I need to speak with them. Excuse me.” They all trooped out, and John turned back to his boss.

“I can’t do this,” Harold whispered.

John found a chair, pulled it close, and sat down to hold Harold’s hand. “You don’t have a choice.”

“You could shoot me.” Harold was in such pain that he made it sound reasonable. “I’d appreciate it.”

John stared down at Harold’s limp hand. “Well, Harold, since your life is going to be hell for the short, foreseeable future, and I’m not shooting you, where would you like to spend it?”

Harold blinked up at him. “I stopped listening after my name.”

“Do you want to stay here at the Tower?”

“No.”

“Where to?” John waited patiently for Harold’s pain-filled brain to process the request. “We can leave. If you want?”

Harold’s eyes flitted from side to side. “No one can see me like this.”

John thought about that. “We’ll go to my place.”

There was no answer. Harold had his eyes closed and was breathing in short pants. John hurt for him. “Jarvis, get a car ready in the garage. Have someone put all my weapons in it.”

“Sir, Mr. Stark disagrees with this course of action.”

“Not his call.” John dropped the rail and scooped Harold into his arms, blanket and all. “He can visit, if he wants.”

Steve met them near the elevator and made sure the blanket was tucked up tight. He escorted them to the car and got the door. “I’ll drive. You stay with him.”

Protesting would only hurt Harold, so John maneuvered them both into the wide back seat and kept him in his lap. Steve shut the door and went around to drive, and John shushed Harold’s whimpers. The passenger side front door opened, and Clint and Bear piled inside.

“Bear isn’t happy with the idea that you’d leave him behind.” Clint shot John a small glare.

John rolled his eyes and gave Steve the address. Bear hopped in the back and licked the top of Harold’s head. “Yeah, we’re taking him home.”

“Dog slobber,” Harold grumbled. His breath came in small pants, and he kept his eyes shut. “John,” he whispered.

“I got you.” John tucked him closer. Bear settled in close, and Steve kept them moving. There was a side door, out of sight of the street, and Hawkeye got the door. There was some confusion, and Bear was no help, but they got Harold upstairs. John settled Harold on the bed, trying to make him hurt less and wishing it worked.

Finally, Harold’s breath evened out, and he slept. John crept away from the bed to find Steve and Hawkeye sitting quietly at the table. Bear was in his basket.

“Are you sure?” Hawkeye asked. “Nurses are great.”

“He still has no feeling in his lower extremities?” Steve asked.

John wasn’t sure where it stopped. He tapped his ear. “Jarvis, how much feeling does Harold have now?”

After a slight pause, Jarvis said, “At his last scan, he had reclaimed his entire core but is lacking both his arms and legs.”

John sighed. “Arms and legs left to go.”

“I remember a lot of screaming when Tony got to that part,” Steve said in a quiet voice. “Can your neighbors handle it?”

“This place is sound proof.” John wasn’t too worried now. They’d figure it out. “I have a doctor friend I can call if things get too intense. Hawkeye, you want to keep Bear until this is over?”

“Bear won’t like that. I’ll come by in the morning and evening and take him for long walks.” Hawkeye had obviously made up his mind. “Steve, you make sure the fridge stays stocked, and I’ll have Coulson watch for numbers. We’re in the home stretch.”

“Coordinate with Fusco if you need to, but don’t contact Carter for any reason.” John was sure they wouldn’t but he never assumed anything. “Steve?”

“Hawkeye will take lead on any numbers that pop up. I’ll make sure you have what you need.” Steve’s phone beeped, and he gave it a look. “I gotta talk Tony out of coming over here in his armor. Hawkeye, you walking?”

“Yeah, I’ll catch a cab.” Hawkeye nodded, and Steve beat it out the door, phone already to his ear.

John took a second to find the right words. “I don’t know why you’ve done all these things for Harold and myself, but I want to thank you for all your help.”

“John, super heroes always stick together. Anyway, your Cap’s kid.” Hawkeye grinned. “Kick in the pants, huh?”

“Trying not to think about it.” John went to put the guns and knives that Hawkeye had helpfully put on the cabinet away. After that, he checked the fridge, made a list, and sent Hawkeye to the store. Hawkeye shrugged and went, muttering about anything being better than trying to talk sense to Tony Stark. John found things to clean and putter with, but he ended up in a comfortable chair by the bed, reading a book and watching Harold sleep.

********

A yowl that started low and began to ramp up brought John wide awake and scrambling for a gun. A moment’s confusion on who exactly to shoot, and he realized it was Harold who was making the noise. Putting the gun aside, he hurried to the bed and pulled Harold into his lap, even though it was probably a bad idea.

Harold’s eyes were blown wide, and after the first cry, he clamped his teeth together, breathing hard through his teeth. John felt helpless. “You’re almost there, Harold. And I promise I’ll never let you climb a ladder again.”

“John!” Harold didn’t seem to have any more words than that, just groaning and the occasional sob. Tears ran down his face, and John knew it was time to settle in for the long haul. This wasn’t going to be fun.

Time had a funny way of stalling out; a day lasting six weeks, the nights forever, and when Harold slept was no time at all. John carried him to the bathroom, cleaned up after him, cooked for him, fed him, and held him through the long nights. There was plenty of time to consider his life choices, and more time to wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the kindness of Steve, Hawkeye, and even Fusco.

John didn’t even know what day it was, but he’d counted eight numbers come and go, when Harold cracked open his eyes and said, “I can feel my legs.”

“Please don’t be joking,” John said. He surged to his feet from his customary chair and pulled the blankets back to reveal said legs. “Well?”

Harold heaved out a breath that was more of a sob, and his feet moved. John sat down with a thump, more shocked than he’d ever admit. Part of him had assumed he’d be doing these things for Harold forever, but it seemed he really was healing.

“I did that.” Harold craned his head to look at his toes. “John? Am I dreaming?”

“No, but I think I am.” John gave Harold plenty of time to say no as he reached for Harold’s legs, starting to rub his calves and feet. “Well?”

With a nod, Harold’s head plunked back down. “That feels tremendous.”

Bear jumped on the bed and put his head on Harold’s stomach as if he wanted to join in the celebration. John laughed, small and quiet, but it was heartfelt. “The pain?”

“Better. I think.” Harold blinked several times, and John moved to help him sit up, propped by pillows. “I can almost think again.”

“Progress.” John sat so he could massage Harold’s legs without getting too handsy. “I wonder if you’ll need physical therapy.”

Harold’s eyes seemed fixated on John’s hands. “Tony will tell us.” He took a deep breath. “Damn it. I want my arms back!”

“One step at a time.” John countered the glare with a small smile. He didn’t quit rubbing, taking the time to check for sores. They’d been careful in their prevention of bed sores, but it never hurt to look again. “Bear is ready for you to take him for a walk again.”

“He’ll have to wait a minute.” Harold twitched his feet again. “My hip. Doesn’t hurt.” He took a very deep breath. “I think.”

“You’ll figure it out.” John hesitated but he had to say it. “We need to see Dr. Cho.”

Harold narrowed his eyes. “I suppose we do,” he grumbled, but then he smiled. “Maybe Bear could visit his swimming pool.”

A small joke, but one that made John’s head almost swim with relief. Harold was going to make it through this without turning on him. John ducked his head.

“Jarvis?”

A small cylindrical object on the table that looked absolutely nothing like an Amazon Echo Dot, or so Stark had said, lit up. “How can I help, Mr. Reese?”

“Harold needs to see Dr. Cho. Feeling has returned to his legs.”

“Excellent news. I’ll schedule an appointment with her.”

Harold tilted his head. “I’m terribly surprised you haven’t shot that.”

“Almost did once or twice, but it came in handy when there was a number and I needed groceries.” John moved down and worked on Harold’s feet.

“Mr. Stark has invited you both to dinner and is sending a car as we speak. I did request he wait for an answer.”

Harold rolled his eyes. “Typical. John, please shoot Jarvis.”

John laughed. “I can do that.” He patted Harold’s foot and extricated himself from the bed. “I’m going to need a shower. You do, too.”

Harold’s eyebrows went up. “Instead of you holding me like a sack of flour, I believe I’d like a bath.”

“You do feel better.” But John grinned and went to make it happen. He took an Army shower before he got the bath ready, and when he emerged, Steve was sitting in the chair next to the bed. John nodded. “Your turn, Harold.”

“I got this.” Steve scooped Harold up and all John could do was get out of the way. He was in no way upset. He needed a break. Bear barked at him, and John sighed.

“I have one friend, Bear.” John went to straighten the bed and pick up his clutter. “Besides you.” Bear jumped off the bed and leaned into John’s side. “Okay, so I’m a little possessive.”

Bear didn’t answer but John had a feeling that the dog felt the same way. It wasn’t long before Steve and Harold made their appearance.

“Mr. Rogers borrowed one of your shirts, John,” Harold said. “His is hanging up to dry.”

“Thought you were gonna drown there for a second.” Steve smiled at Harold, and John was careful not to glower. They found coats, and John carried Harold down to the limo while Steve corralled Bear.

“For some reason, I thought you were driving,” John said, noting Happy Hogan in the driver’s seat. “Hello, Happy.”

“Good evening.” Happy waited until they were all safely inside and settled before smoothly pulling into traffic. “I needed to get out of the Tower for a minute.”

Steve made sure Harold wouldn’t tumble to the floor, and John tucked him into his side. They exchanged a look that John didn’t know how to interpret.

“When this is over, I’ll insist all of you quit manhandling me!”

“Glad you feel better. Rate the pain, please,” John said.

“Four.” Harold only glowered a small amount. “Maybe five.”

“When Tony got his arms back, the first thing he did was throw me out of his bedroom,” Steve said with a shrug. “I didn’t mind.”

John heard the lie but said nothing. Harold nodded. “It’s difficult to be dependent on people for everything.”

No one said a word. John couldn’t even find any words. It’d been crazy to think Harold hadn’t hated being with John every moment of the day, and John wondered if Steve had found himself in this same situation.

“Mr. Rogers, do you have any living relatives besides Mr. Reese?”

It took some control to not wince at being called Mr. Reese again from Harold. It wasn’t even his name, not that he’d ever minded before, but Kara had given it to him, and he honestly hated her. Steve’s answer caught John’s attention.

“Not that I’m aware of. Jarvis has been trying to track down every descendent, but I haven’t received an update lately.” Steve didn’t look at John, and John saw that it was a careful move. The idea that he was sitting in a limo with family didn’t even seem possible. A person to worry about, to fret over, and he knew Steve felt the same.

His entire plan to work the numbers for Harold until someone shot him seemed precarious now. Harold would move on, find another ex-agent to help, but Steve would grieve for him, and John had to look out the darkened window to grab hold of his emotions.

“You know, Harold, I’m tired of the Reese name. I’m going to choose another one.” John didn’t take his gaze off the busy sidewalks.

“It’ll mean I have to revamp several of your false identities.” And Harold gave a small huff, and that, for some reason, made John smile. Harold really was feeling better. “But after this debacle, I’ll have to rework more things than that.”

A small frisson of anxiety went through John, and he turned his head to find Steve meeting his eyes. John looked away first. It wasn’t too long before Happy pulled into the underground garage, and Hawkeye was waiting with the wheelchair. Bear jumped to his feet and smacked Steve in the face with his big tail.

Hawkeye opened the door, and John didn’t stop Bear from taking him to the ground with happiness. Steve and John worked together to get Harold situated in the wheelchair, basically ignoring a lot of complaints.

“We should spar while you’re here,” Steve said, straightening up from securing Harold’s legs.

John shrugged. “Didn’t think we’d be here past dinner.”

“Mr. Wren, your doctor’s appointment is scheduled for tomorrow morning at ten,” Jarvis said, choosing his moment to reveal the news. “Mr. Stark has prepared a room for you.”

“Of course he has, probably with a robot,” Harold complained, but it was Jarvis who drove the wheelchair to the elevator. Steve put his hand on John’s arm. It was a light touch, but it held John back. Harold, Hawkeye and Bear went in the elevator, and the door closed.

“Yes?” John turned to Steve, not sure he wanted to know what this was all about.

“John, Shield isn’t going to let Harold disappear, not this time.” Steve brushed his hair back off his forehead, face grim. “As far as Coulson is concerned, you work for him now.”

John just looked at him. “None of you have any idea who Harold really is or what he’s capable of, and I won’t interfere on Shield’s behalf. He has my loyalty. He saved my life.”

“I know.” Steve nodded, and they moved to wait for the elevator together. “Rich people are strange.”

“Not going to argue with that.” John kept his eyes on the door. “Who has your loyalty? Shield or Tony Stark?”

In the reflection of the elevator door, John saw Steve’s brow furrow. The door swished open, and John got on without waiting for an answer. It didn’t really matter, right now, Shield and Stark were allies. Steve let the door shut in his face, and John went up alone. John hoped by tomorrow when they sparred, Steve wasn’t angry about all this.

The elevator dumped him off at the commons area, and John went to Harold, making sure he was okay. Stark was handing out whiskies, and John took his with a nod.

“John, this is Natasha Romanov,” Stark said, introducing the redhead, who was hovering while pretending not to care. John toasted her, and her smile was familiar. He’d seen it on Kara’s face often enough. Like most New Yorkers, John knew the Black Widow from the Battle of New York, but what he hadn’t known was how intimidating she’d be in person.

John had no doubt that she could kill him with his own whiskey and smile while she was doing it. Hawkeye tossed John a wave from a sofa, and Bear abandoned him to wag his way over to John. John made Bear sit by Harold’s wheelchair and gave him the command for ‘guard’ in Dutch.

Natasha never lost her smile, extending her hand, and he took. “Nice to meet you, John. Clint has been telling me stories.”

“All lies, I’m sure.” John took her hand, gave a slight squeeze, and counted himself lucky to get his hand back in one piece. “Enchanted.”

“A sweet talker.” Romanov’s smile turned into something real. “Clint likes you.”

“He has good taste. He told me that you’re his best friend.” John made sure his smile was the pretty one. He moved away from Harold deliberately, going to enjoy the view of the city. Bear was on the job.

“Spy vs. Spy.” Stark laughed. “Dinner and a show.”

“Tony, have I ever told you that you talk too much?” Harold drawled.

“You have.” Stark laughed again. “Have you figured out that programming issue I’m having with Friday yet?”

John kept his eyes on the city and tuned them out, glad Harold was distracted with talk of computers, but he spared Banner a nod when he stepped up to the rail.

“How are you, John?” Banner turned so he could see John’s face. “Really. No bull shit.”

“I’m tired.” John went with the truth. “Tired of trying to figure out who’s using me and who I can trust.” He saw the shock on Banner’s expressive face. “Don’t ask, if you don’t want an answer.”

“I meant physically.” Banner shuffled around like he was embarrassed. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

It was funny, and John chuckled. “I’m okay. I stayed hydrated, tried to eat regularly, and slept about as much as I did in boot camp.” He added, “Sorry about the overshare.”

“I get it a lot. Something about my face, I guess.” Banner made a gesture at John’s arm. “Healed?”

“Yes.” John hadn’t noticed it in days. He turned and put his back to the city. Sipping his whiskey, he watched Steve enter from a side door. Steve’s attention was on Stark, and John saw them exchange a small hand signal. It was easy to forget that this collection of oddball individuals was a team, but that was a reminder, and John noticed that all of them had seen the hand signal as well. Even Hawkeye, who was juggling fruit, had noticed.

“Team meeting?” John asked.

“No. Just letting us know that Cap isn’t worried.” Banner shrugged. “He does that. Worry. A lot.”

“Huh.” John wasn’t surprised. He took another drink and watched Stark and Harold fuss at each other, both of them staring down at tablets. Bear was staying right with Harold, and John’s neck prickled. Romanov was watching him. He lifted his eyebrows at her, and she gave him a tiny smirk.

She was more than a legend, and he wished he knew the story behind her friendship with a circus performer turned assassin. Curious about another matter, John eased over to Hawkeye and sat next to him.

“Whatever happened to that doctor we hate?” John figured nothing, but it was worth his time to check, just in case he was ever shot around Steve again.

“Tony marched down there and fired him. Told him he was creepy.” Hawkeye tossed an apple through the air at Romanov, and she casually speared it with a knife that appeared from nowhere. “Coulson groaned but didn’t argue about it. Cap made sure the guy left without filing a lawsuit.”

Romanov was suddenly just there, sitting very close and crossing her legs. “What’s your kill count?”

Hawkeye perked up, seemingly interested. “She’s very competitive.”

John looked back and forth at them. “I didn’t keep count.” It was the truth. At first, they’d all blurred together, and then each one had stood out, and then Harold had made him a boon to knee surgeons in Manhattan. “More than six is my guess.”

“Sniping? Or just shooting? Humans or aliens?” Hawkeye was clearly keeping an eye on Cap’s location in the room.

“Never shot an alien.” John wouldn’t have felt guilty about those kills. “I trained as a sniper. Wasn’t used all that much.”

“You ever miss?” Hawkeye’s eyes were bright.

“Not yet.” John drained his whiskey. “It was the cleanup I hated.”

“I always had people for that,” Romanov said.

John shrugged, not wanting to discuss it further. He got up without explanation and went to the bar to find some whiskey. He wasn’t terribly surprised when Steve drifted over, and John got him a beer.

“That’ll be five dollars.” John slid it over to him.

“Stark is buying.” Steve took a long drink, and John joined him. Together, they watched Stark and Harold gather more tablets and argue a little louder.

It was a risk to ask him about his crush, but John took it, not caring too much if it got him booted from the Tower. “Does Stark know?”

Steve gave John a side-eye. “Lots of things he knows that he doesn’t share with me.”

John could commiserate with that. The silence between them was easy, but he decided not to push it. It didn’t really matter if Steve had a thing for Stark. It mattered about the same as John’s crush on Harold – not at all. Stark had Pepper Potts, and Harold had Grace, and John supposed he was more like his great-grandfather than was comfortable.

“Tell me about Peggy Carter,” John said. “She was a fireball?”

Steve laughed. “First time I saw her, she punched a guy in the face.”

“Good woman.” John made up his mind to intervene before Harold had Jarvis run Stark down with the wheelchair. He made a short gesture at them. “You or me?”

“Oh, let me.” Steve flashed him a smile. John laughed, ducking his head, and when he looked up, Romanov was at the bar. She smiled, and he refused to show how much that scared him, but he figured she knew.

“Hey, sailor,” she drawled.

He got her another one of the long necks she’d had earlier. “Just a grunt.”

She favored him with a sultry look. “Has anyone impressed on you yet how protective of Cap we are?”

“Coulson took care of it.” John turned away from her intentionally, watching Steve pester Stark and Harold into giving up the tablets and getting them both to move to the table. John joined them and told Bear to go play with Hawkeye. Bear bounded away, and immediately a ball flew through the air.

“He’s a menace.” Stark scowled at him. He must’ve caught John’s raised eyebrows. “Clint. Not the mutt.”

“The mutt is a decorated war veteran,” Harold said, looking feisty. John rubbed his mouth so he didn’t grin or say something stupid in appreciation. Harold glanced at him like he wasn’t fooled. “John, could you make me some tea, please?”

John nodded and got up to follow Jarvis’ directions on where everything was, and at some point, Coulson arrived. Bear was tossed a treat, and John decided not to comment on how Hawkeye wasn’t the only one who wanted a dog. Delivering the tea, John sat at Harold’s right.

“Pain level?” John asked.

“Four.” Harold looked a little offended to be asked. “More pizza tonight, Tony?”

“Real food tonight, Harold.” Stark double-tapped the table and it turned into a huge tablet. John carefully gave Harold a sip of the tea. Stark’s hands flew across the glass, making adjustments and throwing certain items to the side. “John, I made you a suit.”

“Absolutely not,” Harold said with a real snarl in his voice. John actually blinked at him in surprise.

Stark turned to Harold and tilted his head. “But you asked me to do it. Right after he’d been shot.”

“I said he needed a suit of armor! Not ‘build him a suit of armor’!”

“Semantics.” Stark shrugged in a way that was meant to infuriate.

Steve took the seat next to Stark. “Tony, play nice.”

“Do not take all the fun out of my life.” Stark sent Steve a smoldering look. “I have so little.”

There was a small awkward silence and then all the Avengers were around the table, and clearly, they were accustomed to it being a huge tablet as they each started accessing different functions. John was fairly sure that Clint was playing a game, but Coulson was definitely on Craigslist for some reason.

“John, you won’t accept a suit from this showboat,” Harold said.

“I might if it has advanced Stark weaponry in it.” John couldn’t help but smile at his cranky boss. “I wouldn’t even mind a shield, like Steve has.”

“That’s a one-off.” Stark sniffed like it somehow offended him. His hands continued to move, and John saw Harold frown.

“Tony, that’s completely backwards.” And Harold reached up with his right arm and swirled the configuration into a new pattern. “Like that, if you want the robot to actually move.”

Silence fell at the table, and Harold lifted his hand, mouth slack in amazement. “I did it!”

“You did,” John said in a soft voice.

“Good job, Mr. Wren,” Steve said.

“Pain level?” Coulson asked.

Harold flexed his fingers, staring at his hand. “I don’t even know. It’s like… tingles all over my skin, rushing up to my head, and I…”

“Steve, he’s going to pass out. Remember?” Stark got up from his seat, words flying out like bullets.

Steve moved faster than any human John had ever seen, and by the time John had gotten to his feet, Harold was out of the chair and being carried to a nearby sofa. His head lolled against Steve’s chest, and John got there two seconds after Steve put him down.

“Steve?”

“Tony passed out too, right after he got his legs back.” Steve moved back a little, and John made sure Harold was comfortable. They all gathered around, and John felt like holding his breath. Steve muttered something to Tony that John couldn’t hear.

Harold’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up, moving faster and stronger than John had ever seen. “What the hell?”

“He’s well,” Stark said, moving back to the table and his schematics.

“Go slow, Mr. Wren,” Steve said, putting his hands out as if to slow him down. John watched Harold’s face flick through several emotions. The last one was one he was very familiar with, and he put his hand on Harold’s shoulder.

“Harold?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Reese.” Harold turned so his socked feet were flat on the floor.

“Let me give you a quick look,” Banner nudged John and Steve back and took over, giving Harold a brief but thorough examination. Harold huffed through it, but John was amazed at the range of movement and strength he showed.

“Bruce?” Steve asked.

“He’s good. Pulse strong, no sign of weakness.” Banner stepped back. “I wouldn’t recommend he runs a marathon, but he’s fit.”

Harold graced them all with one of his rare smiles, but only John knew how rare they were. Bear bounded to him, and Harold ruffled Bear’s ears.

“Can we eat now?” Hawkeye sounded about five years old.

“We have so much to talk about,” Coulson said.

“Don’t forget the conversation I was promised, Mr. Reese,” said Jarvis. “About our mutual friend.

Romanov sighed. “Tony, did you even remember to order dinner?”

“Of course not. Bruce did!” Stark didn’t look up. “Get over here and help, Harold.”

“You need it,” Harold said, striding to the table, no limp, no hesitation. “Oh, dear, I’ll need shoes.” He looked down at his sweats and T-shirt. “I have missed my suits.”

It was all a bit much, especially when John knew he was on borrowed time. He glanced at the table, but joining them wasn’t possible.

Steve grabbed him by the arm in a grip that John couldn’t shake off. “Don’t. Eat with us. Let this play out.”

John narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t easy to trust. In fact, it was impossible. He put his hand on Steve’s. “Get me a beer?”

“Got five bucks?”

“Harold’s buying.” John appreciated it when Steve dropped his hand, and they went to the table together with their beers. “Steve, you know Harold has a tremendous amount of New York real estate, right? He should definitely be included in your project.”

“Jarvis and I have been in negotiation for a number of my buildings.” Harold didn’t even look up from the tablet, mirroring Stark. “I have several more libraries in various states of repair.”

“I didn’t know,” John said. He sipped his beer and just stared at him. Of course, Harold was one step ahead of him. John had just sounded pathetic. He leaned back and agreed with Hawkeye that dinner better be soon.

“I’m still uncertain as to why exactly we’re rebuilding this robot’s main core,” Harold said.

“Sentimental reasons.” Stark pushed a few more things around. “Is the exoskeleton ready, Jarvis?”

“Yes, and Dum-E will be thirty percent larger, as you requested.”

“Next time some idiot tries to blow up my house, Dum-E will take them out,” Stark muttered. No one said a word to that strange statement, but Coulson and Hawkeye were thick as thieves at their end of the table. Bear put his paw on John’s leg, and John patted him on the head.

"Dinner, sir, is served,” Jarvis said. “And there is a portion for Bear, as well.”

This time, a pack of people bearing food on platters did come through the door. They had plates, silverware, everything needed for a gourmet meal, and they paid no attention to the fact they were setting it all on a large tablet. Stark grumbled when a plate covered up a section of code, but after a nudge from Steve, he double-tapped the tablet away.

“Ridiculous but convenient.” Harold put his napkin in his lap. “This is remarkable. I’ve been an invalid for days.”

“It’s heady.” Stark nodded. “I ordered a new wardrobe, shirts without holes in the middle.”

“That doesn’t explain all the shoes,” Steve said in a very dry voice. “Or the jackets.”

“It makes sense that the cut of the jacket would be different,” Harold said, nodding. “I hope you used someone other than that dreadful tailor from Santa Barbara.”

“Be nice, or Alfredo will send contract killers after you.”

“Sounds like my normal workday,” John said. Everyone laughed, and Harold blushed. John winked at him before making sure that Bear got his dinner without knocking anyone over for it. The food was good, and the conversation swirled around table, covering topic after topic. Harold was enjoying himself. John knew him well enough to see the signs of true enjoyment. Stark and Harold bickered like brothers, sometimes funny, sometimes mean, and they were more alike than John would’ve thought possible.

Steve wasn’t afraid to get in the middle of it, playing them both with acting dumb and then asking questions that made them both roll their eyes and unite against him. It was a master class in interpersonal management.

Clint leaned into John’s space and whispered, “That’s why he’s the boss.”

Nodding, John filled his plate again and busied himself eating. It felt like he hadn’t in weeks. Clint kept a fresh beer in John’s hand, and John relaxed. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this relaxed.

No one here was going to shoot him, and Jarvis would warn him anyway, and Steve had a shield. Also, Black Widow could kill with a look.

The sun woke him up, and Bear helped him get to the bathroom. There was Tylenol, and he splashed some cold water on his face. The mirror showed a man who wasn’t as young as he used to be, and he needed a shave.

“Jarvis, let’s have that talk.”

There was a brief pause. “Unfortunately, Mr. Wren spoke with Mr. Stark, and I have new protocols in place concerning our mutual friend.”

“He shut you up.”

Jarvis said nothing. John straightened his back, hearing vertebra pop into place, and he went to the common area. The sun was up, but just barely, and he put Bear on the leash before strolling out on the landing pad to watch the rest of the sunrise. Harold was healed, completely. It was, indeed, a new day, and John didn’t wonder what it would hold.

“John, there you are.” Stark step out next to him, shivering a little, coffee in hand. “Make sure to get some coffee.”

“Sure.”

There was a long silence, and then Stark cleared his throat. “You know he left.”

“I know.” John was no fool, not any longer. Kara had beaten it out of him. “Thank you for dinner last night.”

“It was fun. Next time I’ll make sure Pepper is here.” Stark finished his coffee. “Would you like to see the robots?”

John’s eyebrows went up. “How many are there?”

“Enough.” Stark made a sharp gesture, and parts of the landing pad rolled back, and there was machinery coming up, glistening in the morning sun. “These guys take my armor off. Worker bots, no personality to speak of, but they do a great job.”

John watched them clack their claws and spin, finally dropping back under the landing pad. They were impressive. “I wish you were still making guns.”

Stark actually laughed. “Come on.”

Not knowing what to expect, but willing to see more, John trailed after him down to his lab, keeping Bear close and putting him down in the stay position right by the door. The last thing John needed was Bear to destroy a million-dollar machine. 

“Did Harold see all this?”

“He wasn’t impressed, or so he said.” But Stark’s eyes were twinkling. Stark put on a show, and John was a good audience because he knew it’d lead to weapons, and it did. Steve’s shield, Hawkeye’s custom arrows, and Black Widow’s stingers: all of them were perfectly made. Stark tugged him toward a set of guns. “These are the guns I made for Clint.”

John put his hands behind his back so he didn’t grab one and run for the elevator. “Customized for his hands. Specialized grips, and it looks as if it loads a full clip.”

“It does, but these guns are special. They lack the punching power of a normal handgun. You can shoot someone at point blank range and it won’t penetrate the body deep enough to kill. Injure, yes.”

“How the hell did you do that?” John demanded, inclined not to believe a word of it unless he’d been shot with one.

“Sensors. The gun knows where the target is, analyzes clothing and such, and then adjusts its power to match. Now, you shoot someone in the eye, they’re going to go blind, but they’ll live. Nothing’s perfect.” Stark picked one up and rapidly disassembled it. “They’ll only fire for Clint as well. The grip is smart tech.”

“I have a credit card with ten million on it.” John reached for his wallet. “It’s yours, and I’m dead serious.”

“I know.” Stark grinned. “Jarvis.”

“Showing off, sir?”

“Of course. I’m a Stark.”

A pedestal rose from the floor, and John couldn’t breathe.

“We made two for you as well. You’ll have to high-end load them, and don’t attempt to fix them yourself. Say, if you drop them off the side of a building for no reason whatsoever.” Stark glared up at a vent, which didn’t make much sense to John.

John tried to force out some words, but they were all catching in his throat. He shouldn’t be so affected. Taking a breath, he tried again. “So, you own me now?”

“These are a gift. You kept Harold alive, and the world needs him.”

“The world does.” John wiped his hand on his trousers and picked up one of the handguns. It was goddamn perfect. “I’ll be careful.”

“For some reason, I believe you. Also, destroy it before you let someone steal it. There’s no Stark logo on it, which should help that problem.”

Smiling widely, John glanced at him. “That hurt, didn’t it?”

“A lot.” Stark clapped his hands twice, and the far end of the room adapted into a shooting range. “Go try them out. Any problems, you tell me now.”

“Yes, sir.” John snatched them up and started firing before he got to the mark. He fired the entire distance to the target until the clip was empty and then started examining the bullet holes to see the punching power.

“You certainly have a style all your own. Left-handed, like Clint,” Stark mused, having stayed right behind him. “Jarvis?”

“I agree.”

“Give.” Stark took the gun right from John’s hand and began doing something so fast that John blinked. “Load it.”

John took the offered clip, reloaded, and fired at point-blank range. “Feels better. Not sure why.”

“I’d tell you but it’d take hours.” Stark examined the target. “All the holes are the same depth because the target isn’t human.”

Sighing, John frowned. “I have to shoot someone to test it.”

“We have a volunteer. Steve!” Stark yelled. “Get in here! I know you’re skulking outside the door!”

“I’d rather not.” John shook his head. “I’ll just believe you.”

Steve came in the room, looking slightly embarrassed, from a back door that John hadn’t noticed. “Don’t worry. Clint tested his on me. Well, actually, he refused and then Tony shot me, and then Clint punched him. Anyway, it’ll be fine.”

“I like Hawkeye.” John grinned. There was a rustling sound over their heads, and Stark sighed like he was tired of living. Steve took off his shirt and trotted about twenty yards away. John glanced at Stark, who nodded, and then shot him in the shoulder, just to be safe. Steve didn’t even grunt. John went to him quickly, but Stark beat him there. There was blood on him, but as John watched, the bullet slid out to land on the floor with a ping.

“Will it knock a man down?”

“Not a super soldier, but a man, yes.” Steve nodded. “Clint goes with core shots, now that he knows he can’t kill.”

“The bullets won’t fragment, which is what causes a lot of damage in the body.” Stark tugged John’s arm down. “Shoot him in the leg.”

“I believe you.” John didn’t need any further demonstration. He watched as the wound closed and healed before his eyes. Steve needed a shower, but he was fine. “Did it hurt?”

“Yes.” But Steve smiled. “If the person has a bullet proof vest on, the gun packs a lot more power.”

“I need to sit down.” John stared down at the gun. “It’s like Christmas.”

“Someone finally appreciates my work!” Stark cheered for himself. “Steve, take notes.”

“John, you can’t praise him too much. He gets insufferable.” But Steve sounded fond, not serious. “Anyway, Jarvis did the manufacturing.”

“You can’t expect me to do everything. This isn’t the 80’s.” Stark bounced on his feet. “Now, get out. Both of you.” He hesitated. “Coulson, retrieve your dodo bird.”

Coulson replied through Jarvis, “Damn it.”

John was staying out of that. He tucked his guns away. “You should go shower. Thanks for…”

“Letting you shoot me?” Steve smiled.

“Everything.” John put out his hand. “Thank you.”

Steve shook John’s hand. “You’re welcome, and John, my momma would be proud of you.”

Every muscle in John’s body went tight, and his brain clanged to a halt. Saying anything when his throat was thick was impossible. Steve patted him on the shoulder and left using that back entrance. John collected Bear, and they went to the elevator. Bear was well-behaved, which was good because John still couldn’t speak. They went out the front lobby, and John took a breath that felt like it came from his soul.

He did walk in the dark, had for years, but today, right now, he stood in the light.

Bear pushed at him, and they went, not catching a cab, just walking. John stopped at a coffee cart, and several times, he gave the side-eye to pay phones that he passed, but they were silent, and he was glad. Harold would take care of it now, and John would wait to be called.

He’d wait, and it wasn’t like he didn’t have things to do. He did. Bear wanted his bed by the time they got to John’s apartment, and he ran there when John stopped in surprise. He snatched up the note from where it lay on a suit draped across the kitchen counter.

_Don’t tell Harold. TS_

A little confused, John fingered his suit in the dry-cleaning bag. He removed the plastic. It was nothing but one of his suits. One of the better ones that Harold had insisted John needed for a particular job.

“Bear, I need a better security system.”

The little dot on his counter came to life. “The suit is made with special bullet repelling properties,” Jarvis said. “I hope to replace the bulk of your wardrobe by the end of this year.”

“Jarvis, I appreciate it, but no.” John could never repay them, and this was a step too far. “This is too much.”

“I apologize, Mr. Reese, but I don’t work for you.” Jarvis paused. “You may take up the matter with Captain America.”

Later, John would feel bad about it, but right now, it felt very good to put a bullet through Jarvis. That done, John went to take a shower and find some comfortable clothes. The apartment was filthy, and he worked on that until he was satisfied.

When midnight came, the place was clean, the dog was fed, and John was in bed with a book. It took a while but finally, he slept.

********

By eight a.m., John and Bear were across the street from the Library. Bear looked up and whined, and John almost joined him. Workmen were swarming the outside of the Library, and John had no doubts that the first place he’d called home in years was gone.

“I’m sure Harold got your bed,” John said. He was very concerned about the numerous weapons caches all over the building. Cautiously, he circled to the backdoor and went inside. So far, the work was focusing on the exterior, and he took a moment to admire Harold’s ability to clean house. Everything was gone, even a sizeable number of books.

John started at the front and worked his way through all three floors and the roof, getting everything and making a pile near the back door. Bear pointed out an abandoned box of dog treats, and John gave him two before tucking them in a duffle bag. Some small part of him was seething at Harold for doing this, but another bigger part of John wasn’t surprised at all. Harold had trusted John to get his weapons out, but that wasn’t the point. John liked his Library, and he hadn’t wanted to lose it. He supposed he’d lost it the moment Harold had fallen, but this hurt, even if he didn’t want to admit it. It hurt.

Bear watched the bags while John went to get the car, and Bear kept guard while John loaded them. A quick decision, and John took the car to a storage facility. He paid cash under one of his many aliases, parked the car inside, and locked it up. Bear waited patiently with John for the cab, and they were both ready for some lunch.

John had the cabbie take them to his apartment. He ate a sandwich at the sink after feeding the dog. “Bear, maybe we should move. Find a place of our own.”

Crunching food was no answer, and John sighed. Bear gave him a look after he ate before going straight to his bed. John got the message and left him to go play chess in the park below.

He’d wait.

That didn’t stop him from spending the next two days checking all the usual places, but Harold was in the wind, and no one would find him until he was ready. There was even a possibility that Harold had snatched up Grace and left the country. Nothing would surprise John.

On the third day, John started looking for a job. Not seriously, but just to pass the time when he wasn’t taking Bear out to piss. A man with forged credentials had to choose his job carefully. It was a shame that the thing he was best at wasn’t something he was proud of doing.

The fourth day found him angry, and he broke his phone in half, tossed in the garbage at the dog park, and the ear comm flew right in behind it. Bear didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy tussling with a good-sized yellow lab that appeared to be missing an eye.

“Couple of good dogs there.”

John didn’t look at him, anger instantly cooling. “Coulson lost that battle, huh?”

“Shelter pets are the best pets.” Hawkeye patted his thigh. “Lucky!”

Bear and Lucky bolted over to them, and John tossed them each a treat. Without another word, John leashed Bear and started for home. Lucky and Hawkeye didn’t follow, and John didn’t look back. They were professionals, after all.

At the end of the week, a lot of hard truths came home to roost, and John applied for a job working security at the courthouse under one of his aliases. They immediately set up an interview, and he guessed that alias was a trifle over-qualified.

“I suppose it’s better than dog walker,” John muttered to Bear, who kindly put his paw on John’s knee. In truth, he had enough money to never work again, but he was already bored and short-tempered. “Maybe I’ll get a police scanner and follow Fusco around for fun.”

A strong knock on the door pulled John out of his complaints, and he got it, knowing that it wasn’t Harold.

“Hi, Gramps.” John waved him inside.

“Does Tony pay you to say that?” Steve furrowed his brow as he shut the door behind himself.

John nodded with a smirk, not at all serious. “You lost?”

“Um, no.” Steve went to stare out the big window. “Where’s Harold?” His tone was mildly curious, not serious.

It was hard not to laugh. “I looked for him. No sign in any of his usual haunts. You guys strike out, too?”

Steve shrugged. “You want to come over and spar?” He was only half-facing him. “Or even, move in? I’d feel better if you were in the building.” Now, he turned. “You don’t even have a phone, or a Jarvis.”

“I shot him.”

“Clint made us watch the video.” Steve crossed his arms, looking unhappy. He’d never be a good spy. His face was far too expressive. “Coulson put a tracking device on Mr. Wren.”

John’s eyebrows went up, surprised they’d admit it. “How’d that work out?”

“Not so good.” Steve leaned against the kitchen cabinet, crossing one leg over the other. He could teach a master class in looking concerned. “It was on his skin. He shouldn’t have been able to remove it.”

“Right.” John stepped over to look out his big window. “Next time I explain something to you guys, maybe you’ll believe me.”

“Clint did make that point in the meeting.” Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, John.”

John wasn’t going to say it was okay. It wasn’t. “I knew. I chose to save him, knowing I’d lose him for doing it. No regrets.”

“You saved him.” Steve’s expression turned dark for a moment, and then he sighed. “If he gets in contact with you, just… go.”

There was some hurt in that, but John could see that Steve meant it. “I suppose I can’t have both.” He shrugged like it didn’t hurt. “Your reputation could only be tarnished by mine. It’s better this way.”

“No, it’s not better. It’s just life kicking us Rogers’ boys in the testicles one more time. Life is really good at it.” Steve stuck out his hand. “Good luck. If you can, let me know how this turns out.”

“If I can, and Steve, keep your head down.”

They shook hands, and Steve left, almost marching with his shoulders square. John felt about one inch tall. He’d found someone who was actual family, and he’d chosen Harold, who probably wasn’t even in this country. John put on his coat and went to the nearest bar.

Fusco showed up at some point, and John bought him a beer, or at least he thought he did.

********

Dog park, day twelve, not that John was counting, and he was only idly keeping an eye on the crowd. Bear was trotting around with a stick in his mouth, and John saw the Asian man only moments before he dropped a postcard in John’s lap. The man never stopped moving, and John stared down at it for a long moment, feeling as if the Earth had started spinning again. John got up, shoved it in a pocket like it meant nothing, and gathered Bear. They were going for a walk.

It took a while.

It took him to Chinatown.

It took keen eyes.

It took fifty cents and a code number.

And John nearly hit his head twice on exposed beams, but he knew he was almost there when Bear started pulling like crazy. When it seemed safe, John let him go.

John watched. Said nothing. He listened to his own breath, coming too fast and hard.

“Were you followed?” Harold scowled. “I suppose that’s an insult. Don’t stand all the way over there. We have a number.”

It was ridiculous but John looked at Bear, who was happily in his old bed, and then he looked around at what had to be an old abandoned subway station, complete with a car. Words were clogging in his throat, and he really needed to stop doing that. Instead of going closer, he found a perimeter to walk, noting good spots to hide weapons and the back door. The electricity was clearly still on, and it seemed Harold was taking full advantage of the infrastructure above them because by John’s count there were a lot more computers than there’d been at the Library.

“I liked the Library,” John said, glad he’d found some words, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“Well, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Harold said. “I’d always had this place as a backup plan. Now, I suppose I need to find the next backup plan.”

Now John turned his attention to Harold. The dress was similar, but different. He'd lost weight. The colors were the same though, and there was a coat with scarf hanging in the corner. Harold looked taller, somehow, and the fatigue that John had sometimes seen was nowhere in sight.

“Seen enough?”

“I figured we were through.”

Harold never looked at him. “Did you think I’d let you get a job at the courthouse? And why would I have taken Bear’s bed, if I didn’t intend for us to still work the numbers? I also called Fusco to get you into a bed after your night at the bar.”

“Well, that explains the lack of a second interview.” John hadn’t cared. “Guess I’m still wearing a tracker.”

“Perhaps.” Harold would never divulge the truth of that. He had his ways, and he never shared what they were. “Have you finished your inspection?”

“So, this is your offer?” John had noticed that the deposits in his checking account had increased. It’d made him very angry. “More money and I get to pretend to be a train engineer?”

“I gave all my libraries to Captain Rogers, like I thought you wanted.” Harold was standing completely still with hands splayed to his sides. He looked confused. “I came to an agreement with Director Coulson, and I made sure we can still operate with anonymity. I thought…” He trailed off.

John just looked at him. Harold had handled everything, while John had done nothing but sit around on his ass. It had never occurred to Harold to tell John that he was okay, or let him help, or even let John know that Harold was still in the country. John thought he probably had his answer about whether or not he could ever have any sort of relationship, friendship or otherwise, with Harold.

“Mr. Reese.”

“No.” John wasn’t answering to that name any longer. “I need… time.” Which was hilarious since that was all he’d had recently.

“We have a number!” Harold frowned, voice raised. “I need your help!”

“Do you?” John had trouble believing it, but he _was_ the hired help. “Now?”

“Yes.” Harold moved to him, no limp, no hesitation, and it was a shock even though John had known it. “We help people. I can’t do this without you.”

“I told Steve I wouldn’t be around anymore.” John really hoped the hurt didn’t come through in his voice. “I waited. I picked you.”

Harold’s eyes were very round, and the lack of glasses was still throwing John off. “I thought…” He took a deep breath. “You needed a break. From me. For god’s sake, John, you carried me to the bathroom for days!”

John wasn’t talking about that. “I don’t have many friends.” And he took a ragged breath. “And I thought you were one. I was wrong.” He turned on his heel and headed back the way he’d come, not rushing. When a strong hand grabbed his arm, he turned in almost shock. Harold had some new abilities.

“John.” Harold stared up at him, eyes wide, not dropping his hand. “Please. I…” He gulped. “I don’t want to do this without you.”

“You can find some other stooge.” But John didn’t shake him off. “You used me, and I’m done with it. At first, it was fine, even good, but now? No.”

Harold looked stunned, like someone had struck him across the face. His hand fell away, and his shoulders drooped. “I was horrible to you, and I don’t blame you for wanting nothing to do with me.” He half-turned away, back towards the computers. “I wanted to pretend, just get back to helping the numbers. I’d hoped… you would forgive me.”

“There was nothing to forgive. I knew you’d be angry. I knew you’d fire me. Hell, I knew you’d run off once you were well.” John gestured at the subway station, finally finding some words. “But I’d hoped you’d let me help you fix the mess I made when I called Stark. I’d hoped we were friends enough that you’d put aside any embarrassment and call me up once you got through running.”

He had to take a deep breath. “I like you, Harold.”

They were both breathing hard, and Harold’s face was splotchy, red in his cheeks. He rubbed at his face. “I was so weak. I couldn’t even think, but I knew.” He took a breath. “I knew I had you.” Harold swallowed hard. “You can’t give up a relationship with Steve for me. He’s your family, and I won’t allow it.”

“You are really bossy.” John sighed, feeling as if it was spinning out of control. Even when he found the words, he was sure they were the wrong ones. “You and Stark have control issues.”

Now, a small glare shot John’s way. “We’re nothing alike!”

“You’re two peas in a pod. You both want to micromanage the hell out of your environment and the people in it.” John rolled his eyes. “Neither of you can see who’s right in front of you because you’re too busy with all the other details!”

Harold blinked several times. “Captain Rogers loves him,” he whispered. He drew a sharp breath, and John ducked his head, refusing to even look at him. Hell, if John were smart, he’d take off running, but he was never smart. Harold put his hand on John’s forearm. “John?”

“Let’s get started on the number,” John said, pitching his voice low and trying for casual. “Time’s wasting.”

“I’m sorry,” Harold whispered.

In the face of that rejection John was only able to find an ounce of courage. “I am too.” He clamped down on his urge to start running and never stop.

With a tug, Harold pulled John around, and they were staring into each other’s eyes. John sorta wanted to die. A bullet would be so nice about now. Harold licked his lips, eyes bright.

“I guess Tony and I are both idiots.”

“On that we agree.” John really hoped they were at the end of this conversation. “Even Jarvis agrees with that.”

They looked away at the same moment. "Don't tell Tony, but Jarvis is remarkable. He programs himself to do new tasks, fixes his own code errors, and even builds new AIs.”

John was willing to latch onto the change of topic. “Stark tells me Jarvis won’t take over the world.”

Harold sighed and crossed his arms, going back to his computer screens. “A machine can’t make moral decisions, only programmed ones, but Jarvis has made me wonder.”

It was easy to say nothing, crossing to the picture Harold had taped up and studying it. If John were honest, he felt like he had whiplash. So many doubts and worries, and it all boiled down to a big pile of nothing. Nothing was going to change. They’d be friends, sorta, on Harold’s terms, and John would pretend he was fine with that. He sighed, softly, and knew he couldn’t walk away from the numbers. He wasn’t even sure he could leave Harold behind. There was a new phone and ear wig on what passed for Harold’s desk, and John scooped them up. He was going to do this again, and this time he was going to at least try not to get killed.

“John, wait.” Harold popped back up to his feet without even a groan. “You have family now. Maybe, you should go live at the Tower.”

Shaking his head, John checked his gun and made up his mind to move his favorites down here before he slept again. “No.”

Harold snorted. “Well, I guess you’ve made up your mind.” He sat back down and started reeling off facts about their number, moving to the printer twice and adding to the pictures taped to the window. He paused, took a deep breath, and completely changed the subject. “How about we take it slow? Ease into this?”

A little bewildered, John shrugged. “You’re the boss.” He needed coffee. “I’ll head to his apartment and see what I can find.”

“Could you please not fill our subway station with bazookas and the like?” Harold was fussing with this and that, adjusting computers and keyboards. “And no grenades.”

“I won’t let you suck all the fun out of this job.” John parroted Stark intentionally, going to make sure Bear had water and giving him a pat on the head. “No ladders at least, huh, Bear?”

Bear woofed, and John took that as agreement. He tucked his ear wig in and made sure the phone was on. “Want me to bring back some tea?”

“And a microwave.” Harold looked up now, almost smiling. “John, thank you.”

“For what?” John wasn’t thrilled about hauling a microwave through the streets of Chinatown.

Harold moved to him, quick and sure. He reached up and put his hand on John’s cheek, and John froze from shock. “For everything. For being so strong, and mostly, for not giving up on me.”

“That’ll never happen.” John’s cheek felt warm under Harold’s touch, and his feet felt rooted to the ground. “You should go see Grace. Maybe it’s time for you and her.”

Harold sighed. “No.” He frowns up at him. “She’s moved on, and I’m not that man any longer.” There was a long pause, and he tilted his head. “You said we could take it slow.”

John had the feeling he was missing something. “We’ll take the numbers slow. I don’t want you overdoing it. Should we schedule one more appointment with Dr. Cho?”

“And I thought I was an idiot.” Harold patted John’s face. “You’ll figure it out.” He straightened John’s tie. “Is this a new suit? I like the fabric.”

Preservation instincts kicked in, and John just nodded dumbly, not saying it was from Stark. John caught Harold’s hand. “Slow? Us?”

“Yes.” Harold sounded firm on the point. “Us.”

Words dribbled away, and he stood there for too long, not able to think coherently. Finally, he shook himself. “Microwave, got it.”

“I’ll be in your ear,” Harold said, over by his computers. “Always.”

A stupid smile crept over John’s face, and he couldn’t seem to make it go away either. “That sounds… perfect.”

********  
epilogue

The sun began to shine through his windows, and John tugged Harold a little closer, not wanting to get up just yet.

“I’ll be spending the next couple of days as Mr. Crane and living at his address,” Harold said, obviously wide awake, but he didn’t pull away. “He recently had hip surgery, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Good for him,” John muttered into Harold’s hair, refusing to open his eyes. Lips kissed him, and he conceded by cracking one eye. “You’re wearing me out.”

“Blame Tony for my newfound energy.” Harold poked John in the side. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your new wardrobe, courtesy of Stark Industries.”

“I never think. I’m the muscle in this operation, remember?” John shut his eye and moved to cover Harold’s body with his own, throwing off the covers. Harold pushed up into him, in no way trying to escape.

“Oh, I remember,” Harold said into John’s neck before sucking at it. John groaned and nestled himself between Harold’s legs, arching over him, careful with his weight. Harold wasn’t fragile, not any longer, but John was still heavy. Eyes still closed, John let himself do nothing but feel, enjoying the touches as Harold arranged them to his satisfaction, tugging boxers out of the way. Harold used to sleep in pajamas, but John broke him of that habit.

“Feel so good,” Harold muttered, running his hands down to John’s ass and pulling. John kissed Harold’s forehead and obeyed, moving so their cocks could rub. A little bit of pre-come made it slicker, and Harold took them both in hand. John gasped, but he let Harold set the pace.

Harold arched his back and kissed John on the chin. “Yes.” He drawled out the word, and John twisted just a bit, opening his eyes and gasping at the show they were putting on for any neighbor with a good pair of binoculars. Harold pulled on John’s cock a little harder, and it was enough to send John over the edge. Harold groaned and bit him, adding to the mess. They both gasped for air, and John rolled to lie on his back, arms splayed, come drying in the cool air.

“Good morning, Harold,” John said with a smug grin.

“Good morning, John.” Harold laughed, not moving all that much. “Or should I say, Mr. Rogers?”

“Whatever makes you happy.” John liked his new surname, even if he did get a little ribbing here and there. He shut his eyes again and drifted in the moment. He’d get up in a second and take a shower. “If you’re going to be Mr. Crane, I’ll head over to the Tower tonight.”

“Good idea.” Harold’s voice sounded sleepy. “Tell Tony to keep his nose out of my computers.”

“Like that’ll happen.” John smiled. Somehow, in all the confusion, he’d gotten everything he’d wanted – the whole enchilada – and he would never stop being both grateful and humble. “Love you.”

Harold snored at him, and John laughed, softly, and let him sleep.

********  
the end


End file.
